Unto Albion
by Feste the Fool
Summary: Time to see what Once and Future means...unto Albion, right? The dumping ground for drabbles, scenes, and oneshots, "Secrets" oriented. Updated on Mondays. Latest up: I touch bases with canon.
1. Aithusa's Mistake

**Disclaimer: Any name you recognize does not belong to me. **

**Note: While this is not a sequel, it is in the same realm as my "The Secrets We Keep." I recommend you read that first, although it is not necessary.  
**

**This is my World-Of-Secrets dumping ground for oneshots and drabbles! Not full stories or plots or anything, just little short scenes that don't fit in anywhere else. Putting this one up first because I've been toying with Morgana lately, trying to figure out where she fits and what's going on with her, with respects to all the Secrets-y things happening. I'm going to be mentioning her at the end of "No More Secrets," and thought you may want to know where she stands before that.  
**

**So, in short, this is a double-drabble (200 words) fic-version of what happened at the end of season four, with respects to Secrets-which, in this case, only means that Aithusa is young and obnoxious at the moment. Heh.**

**Hope you enjoy, because will a little bit of luck, there should be lots of drabbles and stories where this comes from!  
**

* * *

"That's IT!" Kilgharrah roared. "I'm TIRED of being your CHEW TOY. Get out of this cave and don't come back until you've done something SENSIBLE AND KIND." He threw Aithusa into the air, bespelled the cave, and settled himself in for a long nap, exhausted from helping Merlin with the mercenaries and sure his ward wouldn't be back for days.

Aithusa sulked for a while, then tried crying to get back inside. Kilgarrah was already fast asleep and clearly not intending to end the keep-out-spell soon. The White went for a flight to clear his head…and saw a woman staggering through the forest, dressed all in black, clearly dying from her injuries. There was so much darkness in her…bitterness, hatred…he could feel it on her, smell the rotting apples from the _air. S_he fell, her breaths grew fainter and fainter.

_Aha, _he thought. _Perfect… _He landed in front of her, examined her still form for a moment, then blew on her as Kilgharrah had taught him.

When she woke, her eyes were clear and strong. No more rotten smell. Still dark, but a lot less of it. Satisfied, Aithusa launched himself in the air to tell his guardian what for.


	2. Name Calling

**The next few will probably be dialogue only stories, because those are fun to do. One hundred words and one cross-fandom joke, coming up!**

* * *

"Hey Arthur, I was just thinking—"

"Here we go."

"—Everyone with magic can be called a magician, and it's nice and convenient and easy to say."

"Your point, Merlin?"

"…Why isn't there a nice, convenient word for people who don't use magic? Like…Non-Magics? Or Muggles?"

"Muggles?"

"It's an idea…"

"Sure, a stupid one. Sounds like someone's pet lapdog."

"…No muggles then?"

"No muggles. How about normals?"

"Ar_thur,_ that's insulting both ways. Lackspells?"

"Naw. Nulls?"

"Oh, and muggles was stupid?"

"Er…"

"…The mundane. Mundies for short."

"...Mundies. It's okay."

"That's settled then, prat."

"Idiot."

"Clotpole."

"Cabbage head."

"Mundy!"

"_Mer_lin…"


	3. Another Thrilling Story

"…The skeleton army was you, too?"

"Well, it certainly wasn't _Morgana_."

"…Why couldn't you just tell me all these things at once, _Mer_lin?"

"…You gave me _one day _to explain the last _decade _of our lives, and between the yelling and brawling we managed to only _overview_ the most important events! If you wanted to discuss _everything _in the _minute detail _that you have been _obsessing _over ever since you found out _without _omitting the screaming and fighting that neither of us can resist in these little conversations, you'd have given me _two months!" _

"…Fair enough. So the skeleton army…"

* * *

**Once again, pure dialogue and a touch of humor. I have some angsty ones, but I'm saving them. Cheers!  
**


	4. Impending Fights

"Hey, Leon, where's Arthur?"

"…I don't know, Merlin. What's wrong?"

"I don't know. He sent someone to my room with a message, but it didn't give any details."

"You two are due for another shouting match. The last one was four days ago."

"True. I wonder what thing he's figured out I was hiding this time."

"…Try the west field."

"Hmm? Why?"

"Because there's a pair of dragons flying around the west tower."

"…Oh, goody. A three-way fight about babysitting duties and collapsing castles with the added distraction of an impatient, toothy child. _Thanks_, Leon."

"Don't mention it. Good luck!"

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**Hmmmm...I think I may go angsty next Monday.  
**

**I am now accepting preferences and prompts for Unto Albion. Got an idea? Something you want to see? Something you didn't get in Secrets, or something you want elaborated on? Got a specific genre you love more than anything and want to see some shorts done there? I've already written enough of these to last til Thanksgiving, but I want to hear some ideas from you guys. I love reader participation, remember? PM me or drop a line in a review.  
**


	5. Of Sorcery And Queens I

**Angsty, a bit, as promised, and longer than usual. 615...A hexadrabble? Thought about getting rid of fifteen words and decided it was a nice round number anyway. Enjoy!**

* * *

Perhaps "avoiding" was a strong word, but Arthur now knew what it was he was supposed to be paying attention to, and the strange behavior of his wife and magician was obvious. For weeks after the lifting of the ban on magic, Arthur noticed how _little _time Gwen and Merlin spent together. They never talked anymore and skirted around each other like nervous racehorses. It took him time to put the pieces together, but the Queen of Albion's suddenly milky cheeks and Merlin's quick self-dismissal after a complicated bit of defense magic on the southern wall finally gave it away. Arthur's beloved Guinevere had a problem with magic.

He tried speaking with her that night, to no avail—she'd never expressed anything but support at the lifting of the ban before and once again stood by his decision. When he pressed her further, she admitted she wasn't comfortable with it yet, but she would be someday. When they met Merlin in the hall the next morning and he and Gwen carefully avoided each other's eye contact, Arthur swore it would be _sooner _than _later. _

But Merlin, wise, stupid, observant, _knowing _Merlin cornered him later that day. "I don't know what you're planning, but whatever it is, don't," he said, shaking a finger in the king's face.

Arthur scoffed at him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You figured out Gwen's having problems," Merlin argued. "And you're going to try to fix them."

The king turned his head. "…How did you know that? And why didn't you tell me, anyway? No more secrets, we swore."

"It was never a secret. She can't help it, Arthur, and that embarrasses her."

"And hurts you," Arthur pointed out, and the hurt Arthur had seen but not observed since the lifting of the ban flashed in the warlock's eyes.

He blinked and it was gone again. "That doesn't matter."

Glad they were alone, Arthur leaned closer to his friend, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Don't you dare say that," he muttered. "You do matter."

He knew Merlin's weaknesses, and he knew one thing his humble "little brother" would both never get used to praise and never get enough of it. Avalon knows he was starved enough of it before. With those three words, Merlin squared his shoulders, his cheeks turning pink and his mouth turning up. But he wasn't distracted enough to change the subject. "This is not something you can fix. You'll just hurt both of us more if you try."

"Merlin—"

"She's worried for me," he admitted under his breath. "She was closer to Morgana than any of us, and she was with her every step of the walk into the dark. She's afraid she'll have to watch as you and I go through the same thing."

Arthur started to laugh, but something in Merlin's voice stopped him. Possibility. "Merlin, no more secrets. Are you worried, too?"

The magician shrugged. "Anyone can Fall, Arthur. It's not likely for me, as long as I've got you and the rest of the Table to check me, but it doesn't mean I can't trip every once in a while. After all, you did. When you killed Carleon."

_Ouch. _Arthur would've liked to blame Agravaine for that whole affair, but he knew better than that. Merlin was right, again; he had tripped. But with Gwen… "You know you're _not _more likely to trip just because Gwen may or may not be expecting you to, right?"

Merlin chuckled and the king felt better. "I'll remember that. And you can relax. She's already loads better than she was before. She'll come around, all right? Just let her do it in her own time."


	6. Of Sorcery And Queens II

**This takes care of Gwen, and also marks the first _actual _spell I've used instead of just "Merlin muttered" or something. Yes, it is the spell he used in "The Hunter's Heart," and yes, I did get pull it off the Merlin Wiki. Enjoy!**

* * *

A few days later, Merlin brought the king and queen breakfast as a sort of nostalgic tribute to days now long gone. Arthur insisted he stay and eat with them, despite Gwen's apprehensive looks and Merlin's warning glares. They all sat down at the smallest table and the tension in the room faded somewhat as the two men began their familiar banter. A few minutes later, the queen released a small exclamation of pain and dropped the pear and knife in her hands. Arthur's arm was around her shoulder in an instant, before he even knew what had happened, and Merlin started toward her, too, before thinking better of it and stepping away.

"I'm fine, Arthur," she said, laughing lightly at her own silliness. "Just startled me, that's all." And she opened her left hand, now split open across the palm and a couple of fingers when the knife had slipped.

Arthur drew the hand into his own larger ones. "It looks deep," he muttered, rubbing his thumb across the injured finger. She hissed in pain, and he kissed her temple in apology. "You're bleeding pretty badly, too. I'd prefer it if someone took a look at it."

Merlin, forgotten, hovered by the door. "Should I go fetch Gaius?" he asked, biting his lip.

Gwen looked at him, and something clicked. Perhaps it was her bleeding all over her husband's arm. Perhaps it was the hurt in the warlock's eyes. Whatever it was, she shook her head. "No," she said quietly, removing her hand from Arthur's grip and holding it out. "Can you fix it, please?"

Arthur looked at Merlin, then back at Gwen, then at Merlin again. The two of them only had eyes for each other. Sensing some kind of private moment, Arthur slid his arm from Gwen's shoulders and stood, taking a few steps away to watch. Merlin took a cautious step toward her. "…Are you sure?"

The queen took a deep breath and nodded, rising from her chair. "Silly to bother Gaius over something this trivial. He has other patients who need him more than I. You can handle this."

Merlin stepped forward again, licking his lips. He looked at the offered hand, then took it in both of his own. Gwen trembled at the touch, but didn't pull back. The warlock, rather than looking at the hand, locked eyes with her, neither of them blinking. "_Ic hæle þina þrowunga,_" he said, still staring.

Gwen gasped—not at the gold flooding Merlin's eyes or at the rush of heat into her hand, but at the _words. _She'd heard them before, somewhere. She felt a hot, tingling feeling on the outside of her right thigh and gasped again. A memory sprang to mind—darkness, pain, fever, despair, and a hand on her leg, and _those _words over her head, weaving their way into her delirium, and then a restful sleep—and in the morning, Merlin.

"It was _you,_" she whispered, amazed. "In the forest."

His hands tightened around hers as he realized what she was asking. "…Yes. It was me."

"Oh, _Merlin,_" she cried, flinging her arms around him and burying her face in his neckerchief. She could feel rather than see the faces the two men were making at each other as Merlin returned the hug. "_Thank _y—"

"Don't you dare," Merlin warned, squeezing her. "It's past now. Nothing more to thank." It was another unexpected thing the king and his magician took seriously.

Gwen pulled back and put her hands on his cheeks, wincing when she realized she was spreading blood all over the poor man. "Sorry," she said with a smile, grabbing a handkerchief and rubbing his face. "I'm sorry, Merlin. You will forgive me, won't you?"

"There's nothing to forgive, either," he said, waving his hand. The blood vanished from both of them.

Arthur cleared his throat, and the two turned around. The King of Albion wasn't used to being forgotten. "If you two are quite finished, can we get back to breakfast?"


	7. A Sense of Smell

**A bit more Gwen, for your reading pleasure. As you can see, she's much better about it now. **

* * *

"Don't scoot away, Gwen. Just because Merlin's eating with us doesn't mean we can't cuddle."

"I'm not sitting within three feet of you until you bathe."

"Oh, but you'll sidle up to _him _without any problems."

"I'd sidle up to anyone other than you just now, Arthur Pendragon. You smell like sweat, horse, dirt, and steel. Merlin smells like wood smoke and fresh cut apples. There's no contest."

"But…but…He's been with me all day! We ought to smell the same!"

"…That's my magic, actually. Good nose, Gwen. Mundies usually can't catch it."

"…Merlin, go muck out my stables."

"But-"

"_Now."_

* * *

**For all you gl*orious readers eag*erly awaiting *th*e update of "*Marriage*," um...ha*ng* in the*re. My keyboard currently h*as asterisk cancer, meaning *tha*t a select few keys trig*g*er a stream of asterisks tha*t only ends wh*en anothe*r key is pressed. Thi***********s is wha*t my typing *looks like if I don't* meticulously edit tho*se asterisks out. It'*s **frustrating *and exha*usting *and one of tho*se trig*g*er keys is the stinking* _backspace button _and LET ME TELL YOU HO*W IRRITATING *TH*AT IS. Ahe*m. Anyway, you can see the* problems tha*t migh*t arise from attempting *to write a story. I'v*e go*t go*t the* next cha*pter written, but it'*s being ***edited wh*enever the* cancer go*es into remission, whi*ch *is does, periodically...briefly. I h*ope to g*et a ch*apter or two up in th*e next few days, but if I don't**, thi*s is wh*y. Ha*ve a go*od day, my lovelies!  
**


	8. Merlin's Girl

**How about another lady from Merlin?**

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"_Mer_lin, where on _earth _have you been! We've been looking for you for _hours!_ What good is a Court Magician if you can't ever _find _him…when you…who's your…your friend?"

"Arthur, this is Freya Vivienne. Freya, meet Arthur."

"We've met before. It's nice to see you again, Your Majesty."

"…Again?"

"Yeah. You killed her once. But that's okay, because it made her the Lady of the Lake."

"…Lady of…Wait, Vivienne? _Galahad's_ Vivienne? I killed…I'm confused…"

"Well, don't overexert yourself. Gwen'd kill me if your brain popped."

"Merlin, love, behave."

"…Merlin…love?"

"Hadn't we mentioned that yet?"

"…Nice to meet you, Lady Freya."

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**Also, the asterisks have been gone for a week now, and I'm feeling pretty confident that it'll be a while before they're back. Enjoy, and don't forget to review!**


	9. No Man Is Worth Your Tears

Balinor had been Merlin's _father_. And he'd…and Arthur had…and Merlin had…and Arthur said…and after Freya…_ oh, _that's _bad. _The king felt like a stray dog, covered in cow muck and fleas, his tail tucked between his legs, begging for food from someone whose chickens he'd just slaughtered. He looked to his left, where his Court Magician was cataloguing magic books for the new wing of the library. The man was smiling, _humming, _as cheery as ever and _definitely _not aware of the scummy-feeling mental agony Arthur was going through.

"Merlin," he called, not able to take anymore. The warlock looked up and as their eyes met, Arthur's mouth went dry and the dog feeling came back. Absolute honesty, like they'd sworn. Sweet Camelot, he felt _awful. _"I…I…I'm not sorry, you know. For when…When Balinor…and I said…I said no man was worth your tears…" He winced again. "…I'm not sorry." And he wasn't. Because he never, ever, _ever _wanted to see that kind of grief on wise, stupid, loyal, mad Merlin again. It _hurt, _worse than any injury, to see a friend in that amount of pain. He'd have said _anything, _anything at all, to make it stop.

For a brief, horrible minute, that same pain flickered through Merlin's eyes. Then he smiled again. "I know, Arthur," he said softly, and in a way that clearly said he knew what Arthur was getting at.

"…Right," Arthur said, half-blessing and half-cursing how well they knew each other. Reading between the lines of a _spoken _conversation was a bit unsettling and occasionally unfortunate. "…But I wanted you to know."

The warlock rolled his eyes and charmed a book to fly at the king's head. "Make you a deal. Next time something terrible happens, you don't have to say anything, alright? Just be there."

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**I bounced back and forth between humor and angst for this week and settled on angst. Hope you enjoy!  
**


	10. K-I-S-S-I-N-G

**I promised someone humor and awesome!sassy!Gwen. Hope this satisfies. **

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"You did _WHAT!_?" Arthur thundered, face murderous. A furious Merlin straightened, eyes burning, and the shouting probably would have started if not for Guinevere herself.

Her only reaction to the outburst was a withering look. When she spoke, her voice was calm. "_Honestly, _Arthur. _I _kissed _him. _It was before you and I knew each other and it was _completely_ platonic."

"Oh, there's a _platonic_ way to kiss someone on the lips, is there?" Arthur asked.

"Certainly. Watch." Percival was closest. She stood on her toes and surprised everyone by kissing the big knight on the lips. He was the _third_ man in the room to turn beet red. "_That_ was platonic."

Then she turned around and pushed her husband against the wall, crushing his lips under hers, lacing her fingers through his hair. Everyone _else _went red. Percival clapped his hand over Galahad's eyes. She held the kiss until she had elicited a low growl of contentment from Arthur, then stepped back, crossed her arms, and glared. "_That _was romantic. See how that was different from the other thing?"

"Mmm…yes dear. Whatever you say, dear," he muttered, eyes half-closed.

Not another word was ever said about Gwen's kissing anyone.

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**Happy Monday, all! Might be a random update on Halloween, might not. In the meantime, humor next week, or something angsty and sad? **


	11. The Life You Save

**I went with angsty, a bit. So far, all of these little things except the first one have taken place within the first six months after magic was freed. How about we go back in time a bit, to the second episode of season four, and take a look at a man that some love and some hate and I feel just really got cheated? That's right, Galahad's daddy, and my heart hurt writing it. Sorry. **

* * *

**Lancelot's Lament/The Death-Knell of Lancelot du Lac/The Life You Save May Be Your Own**

**I**f he's being perfectly honest with himself, he doesn't know who he's dying for. Arthur seems to be the obvious choice, what with the promise he made Gwen and all. And by protecting Merlin, he's ensuring Arthur's safety far beyond his own abilities. But wouldn't the promise mean he's dying for Gwen? Or for Merlin, most directly?

Who was he kidding? He was _dying, _willingly walking toward a great black hole in the air. He was going to _die. _What did it matter who it was for?

And it had to happen quickly, while Merlin was distracted.

His stomach squirmed with guilt. He really did feel bad for that. For not being able to say goodbye, for leaving the warlock alone, but it couldn't be helped. He thought of Gwen—another goodbye he'd miss—and feelings of friendship and the distant memory of old love warmed him. He had thought, all this time, that he knew the difference between first and true love, but now he knew he'd been wrong. He was sorry for that, too, sorry he would die with Gwen still thinking…probably dreading…but he didn't love her, not for some time.

Not since Astolat.

And then the warm, happy feeling hit him even stronger. He'd been such a _fool, _clinging with childish possessiveness at a thing that didn't belong to him, a thing he only wanted because he'd been afraid of losing it like he'd lost so much else_._ He wished Gwen knew that. He wished he could apologize.

Perhaps he _was_ born for knighthood, but the longer he stayed, the more he was sure it wasn't for Camelot. He loved Arthur as a brother and was honored to serve him, die for him—that was what he was doing, wasn't it? Everything was so hazy already. Felt like cold hands reaching for him behind the veil. _I'd have like to stay, _he thought with another step. At least, he thought he'd have liked it. Camelot with Merlin as its sorcerer would have been a glorious thing; he wished he could see that, but he wasn't _truly happy_. He'd felt himself fading in the last few months—maybe longer. Growing distant, restless, lonely. And sad. Always so sad, and out of place. He'd never wept. It ran deeper than that. It was an ache in his bones, and the feeling that he was slowly, so _agonizingly _slowly, losing himself to…to something. Maybe he was already dying. Maybe he'd been dying ever since came back.

There was a hole in his heart. Something was missing.

And when he thought of Astolat, he knew what it was, and happiness bubbled up inside him.

A sudden silence behind him. He turned around and cast the warlock what he hoped was a consoling smile, but he doubted it worked. No regrets, not anymore. He knew who—and _what—_he was dying for, and it wasn't Gwen, or Arthur, or even Merlin. The _what _was Albion, but the _who…_he'd never done a selfish thing in his entire life. This was his gift to himself, not that anyone would ever understand. This was emerging freedom, his own choices, and the _right _ones for once, and he couldn't help feel anything but _glad. _He turned back, and even the screams of the Dorocha seemed muted and unimportant.

_Elaine,_ he thought, with a genuine, serene, happy smile. _Elaine, I love you, and I'll be waiting…_ He spread his arms wide, embracing his death. He could hear Merlin shouting behind him, not that it mattered, because he was already moving again. He stepped through the sundered veil.

* * *

**...and, naturally, Elaine was already dead and waiting for HIM by the time this happened, so they lived decently happily ever after. For the most part. Sort of. **

**Also, I'm a veteran Wrimo going back in to the fray again this year. Just a warning, in case I disappear for the month of November, it's* because my NaNo is going well. **


	12. Picnic

**Here's something fluffy and a touch romantic to help you recover from last week.**

* * *

Lord Merlin Emrys, Court Magician of Albion and Lady Freya Vivienne, Lady of the Lake were on a picnic.

Not that that was an extraordinary event in and among itself. The two regularly attempted to skiv off work in favor of spending a few precious hours together—well, Merlin tried regularly, Freya just delegated everything to Lancelot for the day and made Merlin really wish he had a lackey to boss around—but today they had succeeded. It was the anniversary of the day Freya had first exerted her powers as Lady of the Lake, the day the dragon sword had been drawn from the Lake and the Dark Queen was overthrown and the great blade was cast into stone. While the rest of Camelot celebrated the memory of their success and mourned those past, the magician and the queen of Avalon were having a quiet picnic on a sunny hill outside the city.

"This is very nice, Merlin," Freya said with a smile, sitting down on the blanket he'd just smoothed out with his magic. "Very nice, indeed."

The warlock grinned, cheeky and distracted. "Well, Arthur has enough picnic outings, I figured it _had _to be a good idea."

Freya raised an eyebrow. "…How many of Arthur's picnics have ended well?"

"Oh," he said, face falling. "Didn't think of that."

She laughed, and he joined in. Time passed—hours could have flown by and they wouldn't have noticed. They ate and talked of nothing and everything, their hands not quite touching throughout the meal. Freya drew fresh water from the earth when Merlin groaned about forgetting drinks, and Merlin, to her delight, made the wind visible for several minutes. While they were watching it dance, Merlin reached onto his bag. "Oh, I made you something," he said, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.

"Oh?" she asked, tearing her eyes away from the twirling winds to face him. "What sort of something?"

He pulled out a small, smooth apple and tossed it to her. She caught it with a small smile playing about her lips. "What sort of wicked symbolism is this?"

"Can't a man just give his lady an apple?" he asked, lying back, his elbows in the grass. "I conjured it myself. It's a special apple."

"A magic wishing apple?" Freya asked, raising the fruit to her nose and sniffing. "It smells delicious, anyway."

"Not a wishing apple, no," he said. "Just take a bite and tell me what you think. I wasn't sure if you liked the crunchy kind or the mealy kind, but in the end I couldn't get it to work with crunchy anyway, so that worked out."

Her smile broadened. "Oh, I like the crunchy ones," she said, mischief in her eyes.

"You would," Merlin said, rolling his own eyes and nudging her with his foot.

Freya smirked and bit deep into the apple. She made a curious face as she chewed—it wasn't a look of displeasure, though. "Oh, how sweet," she said after she'd swallowed.

"…Thanks?"

"No, it's really, _really _sweet. Positively saccharine," she said, swallowing again and reaching for the water.

He frowned. "Yeah, should have warned you. Couldn't get it any less sweet than that, either. Sorry."

She took another bite, chewing a bit faster this time. "It's not bad, love, just surprising."

They chatted a bit more while Freya munched her apple, Merlin growing more and more fidgety as time drew on. He kept staring at the apple, too. At last, Freya bit down to the core and found out why. "Oh, Merlin, how inventive!" she cried in delight, for instead of a core, the apple contained a juicy red strawberry.

Merlin blushed and shifted a bit more. "Thanks. That's rather why the apple was all mushy and sweet, but I wanted to get the strawberry perfect."

"It's beautiful magic." Freya finished off the surrounding bits of apple and sampled the strawberry. "Mm, and it _is _perfect. Well done—" She broke off suddenly, seeing something glinting inside the half of the strawberry left in her fingers. "…Merlin?" she asked, pulling the shiny bit out. It wasn't anything special, just a small, slim silver band, sticky with fruit juice, but to the practiced eyes of the Lady of the Lake, it shone with a reflection of the same sort of incredible, deliberate magic that flowed through the waters of the Island of Avalon—and through Merlin.

Merlin was kneeling in front of her when she looked up, not on one knee, just kneeling, leaning with his hands on his knees, clenching and unclenching the material of his pants. "It's not really dinner and dancing, or a room filled with candles, or the start of a passionate life of crime, or anything beautifully romantic like that, but we never really had that kind of relationship, did we?" he asked, smiling, his eyes on the ground.

Her breath caught.

"And…" Merlin swallowed. "Well, it'd still be unusual, wouldn't it? You with Avalon and me with Arthur and Albion. But we could still make it work. The knights and their wives practically do the same thing and make it work, not seeing each other for a while at a time, I mean. I love you, and I think we were probably meant to be together, because Emrys and Vivienne kind of have that echo-y thing going on like Arthur's full name or Tristan and Isolde or Lancelot du Lac, but you don't really believe in that kind of thing, so that has less of an impact than I would like—"

"Merlin, love," Freya said, her voice quiet, eyes sparkling. "Just shut up and ask me."

Merlin gulped and met her gaze. "…Marry me?"

She smiled, nodded, and kissed him, very softly, on the lips. "In a heartbeat."

He broke out into a truly beautiful grin and took her hands, the half-eaten strawberry dropping, forgotten, onto the blanket. "_Perfect,_" he practically purred, flopping onto the blanket beside her again.

Freya stretched out next to him, her head resting on his shoulder. "This is one picnic that ended well, I think," she said, holding the ring up to the sky. "Although we may want to—"

"—wash that off before you actually put it on?" Merlin said with a smirk. "Yes, a sticky ring was the other flaw in my plan."

She frowned and twisted her head to look at him. "Other flaw? What was the _other_ other flaw?"

A drop of water dripped onto her cheek, then Merlin's forehead. "The other other flaw is that I heard thunder a minute ago, and now it's starting to rain."


	13. Friendly Irritants I

**...Okay, so I've had a rotten week-and-a-half and I need motivation for school and writing and just life in general and I've only got two of these things waiting in the wings and I can't decide which one I want to give you and last chapter was chapter twelve anyway, and that's something of a landmark, so if I were fishing for excuses, which I probably am, not that you guys are complaining, I could use that as a reason to post two chapters today, but mostly it's because I need to write but I don't want to do anything but sleep, so I'm dumping all of the chapters I can safely put up here at the moment and going "oh, look, you have nothing to post next Monday, best get right on that..." and I'm going to shut up now, thank you, goodbye. (NaNoWriMo isn't going so hot, just in case you can't tell. And life sucks, and school is being obnoxious. I'm a mess. )**

* * *

It didn't take long after the "Day of the Falcon," as the druids called it, for Arthur to realize that "happy magic" was Merlin's security blanket. When his knights were nervous or bored they paced, ran, trained, sharpened weapons, or, in Gwaine's case, ate. _Merlin_ made smoke pictures and ghostly music, made candles dance and put on colored light shows. At first, he felt hideously guilty, because it was just one more thing denied to his friend.

A chat with a strangely annoyed Gaius quickly cured him of that fear. In the privacy of the physician's chambers Merlin had ignored every law and Gaius' good judgment to indulge his whims to his heart's content. In fact, the comfortable feeling or pleasant smell coming from the rooms all those years were usually the result of Merlin's magic, suddenly cut off.

And soon after that he discovered why Gaius had sounded so irritated about it. "MERLIN! One more set of bubbles in the council chambers and I will put you in the stocks, magic or no! Clear out this room NOW!"


	14. Friendly Irritants II

"Merlin, _there_ you are!"

"Go away, Arthur."

"Nope. Don't think I will. What are you doing? You look a bit constipated."

"Arthur, I told you. _Go. Away._"

"But you've been locked up in here all _day." _

"Yes, just in case you _haven't noticed, _I am just a _bit _on the _busy _side."

"…So you _are _constipated—"

"—_So help me_, I will turn you into a chicken, roast you alive, and feed you to your wife."

"Eh, she's been off chicken lately. Something about a feather in the soup—"

"ARTHUR!"

"Oh, simmer down, Lord Choleric. What's gotten your socks in a bundle, anyway?"

"…What? …Okay, you've been spending _far_ too much time with Freya."

"What can I say? I like your betrothed. And it's stimulating to talk to another ruler. So, what _are_ you so worked up about?"

"…I am _trying _to perform a bit of complicated and difficult defense magic on the lower town and the King of Clotpoles keeps breaking my concentration!"

"Pfft, come on, Merlin. You're _Emrys. _It's just magic."

"…Excuse me?"

"Well, it's magic. It just…happens. Like magic. Well, because it is. Magic, I guess. It's…magical?"

"You've been skipping Galahad's this-is-what-magic-is-and-why-it-works training sessions, haven't you?"

"Well, yeah, but it's _magic. _How hard could it be? Especially for _you._"

"Just because I'm Emrys doesn't mean I get to put in less work on the harder spells."

"Yeah, but how hard can it be?"

"…Well, casting this particular spell _without _the added headache of prattish interruptions, is a lot like trying to thread a needle while bound, blindfolded, and drunk."

"…I'll just go be somewhere else now, shall I?"

"It would be _greatly _appreciated, sire."


	15. Gifts I

**Durr, I almost completely forgot about you guys. Sorry. **

**Beginning of an arc for Christmas!**

* * *

"What do you want for Midwinter, Arthur?"

Arthur glanced up from his paperwork to his queen, brushing her hair out in front of a mirror. "You don't have to get me anything. And Merlin," he snapped at the warlock, scrubbing away at a patch of armor in the corner. "You don't have to do that, either. That's what Galahad's for."

Merlin snorted. "And Galahad is more than welcome to it, after this rune is done."

"I asked Merlin to charm your armor," Gwen said, drawing her husband's attention again. "Stop avoiding the question."

The king glanced from ex-servant to ex-servant, looking increasingly distracted. "I'm not avoiding it, I just answered it. What's my armor need charming for?"

"Because you're an idiot who insists on running blindly into life or death situations?" Merlin said, at the same time Gwen added, "But there _has _to be something you _want, _dear."

"I am _not _an idiot!"

The queen rolled her eyes. "But the lack of defense from the _other _half of that statement is exactly _why _I asked Merlin to charm your armor. Now what do you _want?" _

"I don't want anything!" Arthur snapped, causing Gwen and Merlin to exchange smirking glances. "Except maybe my armor to be left alone!"

The warlock went back to his rune tracing. "Oh, please, Arthur, I put the _new _spells in place _yesterday. _I'm just strengthening the old ones now."

"The old…" The king rubbed his eyes with one hand and squeezed his quill in the other. Best give up on that train of argument. "I don't know, it never occurred to me. What do _you _want for Midwinter?"

The queen and Merlin exchanged glances again. "Actually, I'm not going to tell you," she said while Merlin's grin grew.

Arthur's hand dropped from his face. "…What?"

"You've gotten it easy the last few years," Gwen said, removing another pin from her thick dark curls. "Merlin and I decided. You have to come up with my gift, at least, all on your own. No suggestions from me, no prompting from Elyan, and absolutely _no help from Merlin." _

"…But…but…but…"

"Oh, and no help from me or Gaius about Merlin's gift, either," Gwen said, turning back to the mirror as Merlin began to blush. "And they had better be good ones."

"But…but…but.."

"Sorry, Arthur, Gwen outranks me," The warlock said in a way that said he wasn't sorry at _all. _"You have to use your own brain on this one, as weak and disadvantaged as it is."

Arthur resisted the urge to chuck his inkwell at his Court Magician—something about that whole phrase suggested it was a _really bad idea, _and besides, Gwen was _right _in his line of fire. "Okay, isn't it time for you to head off to your tower and make potions?"

"If I _had _a tower…"

"_Merlin…"_

Gwen chuckled. "Merlin."

The warlock grinned and stood. "I'll just drop this by Galahad on the way out."


	16. Gifts II: December 18

**Notes: Yes, this is a Christmas fic. No, the word "Christmas" will never be used in this fic. Why? Because so far, there have been no mentions of Christianity in the show, and while the holiday is actually a pagan one in origin, it had zillions of names before the Catholic Church started calling it Christmas. Speaking of which, because we've (frustratingly) been given no real, sturdy, consistent basis of religion/mythology/culture/tradition, the magical-centric flavors of "Midwinter" will be a kind of buffet of such: part Roman, part English/Irish/Scottish, part my brain vomiting on paper. Fun times, right? **

**Also, clearly these characters aren't using a Gregorian calendar, so in-story, dates will be very vague. The chapter titles will be the Gregorian equivalents of these dates so you can follow along at home. Also, fun fact: in ancient times most winter celebrations started around Dec. 17th and lasted well into January!**

* * *

"I heard the druids have arrived," Elyan said as the knights headed outdoors for a training session, in the snow, which no one was happy about. Percival was even wearing sleeves, and his arms were straining them to their limit. For some reason it was very hard for Percival to find shirts that fit.

"Oh, have they?" Galahad said, trying to keep up with the others while carrying everyone's things—sacks of gloves and blankets for after training, helmets and weapons for during training. "I knew they'd be coming into Camelot, but I wasn't sure when—"

"No, I mean I _heard _them arrive," Elyan stressed.

Leon listened to the squire's stumbling steps a moment longer before taking pity on the boy and heaving a bag of blankets over his own shoulder. "Is that what that big…din was last night? I thought Merlin had just exploded something again."

"So had I," Percival said. "I went to ask him what it was and how angry I would be when I found out, but he wasn't in his chambers. They called him out to do some kind of opening ceremony."

"I heard the druids start their midwinter celebrations earlier than the rest of us," Gwaine said. "He is their king, I suppose, and he's welcome to it. What the—"

They had arrived at the snow covered training grounds to find no one but Gwen, standing in the middle of the snow. "Hello, boys," she called as they came closer. The knights looked at each other in confusion and entered the small arena.

"What's going on, Gwen?" Elyan asked. "Where's Arthur and the new recruits?"

The queen smiled, tucking the furry hood of her dull red cloak around her head to stop the snowflakes from falling down her collar. It was cold enough as it was without wet underthings. "My midwinter gift to the brave men at arms. Arthur's busy with a sudden foreign policy clause I brought to his attention this morning…and an independent project. I'm only sorry I couldn't let you know before you came."

Poor Galahad let out a muffled groan and dropped his bundles into the snow, making everyone chuckle and clap him appreciatively on the shoulder.

"Thanks, your highness," Gwaine said, dropping into a mocking bow.

"Oh, don't thank me yet," she said with a smile. "I have other gifts for our beloved inner circle. In fact, _Lord Gwaine, _you should be packing right now."

The title drop set the knight on edge, his shoulders hunching and locking in alarm. "Why don't I like the sound of that?"

Gwen smirked. "It's a formality, don't worry. I did some rearranging of the incoming political messages from the Orkneys. It seems in the sudden let up of matters requiring the Lord of the Orkneys' attention, it is only fitting for the Lord of the Orkneys to meet with the leader of Westmorland and discuss the situation of the outlying territories and bring a full report home to Camelot. I've arranged for transport. You and G'reth leave tomorrow."

Gwaine's eyes widened, first in horror, then in realization. "Gwen, are you saying what I'm think you're saying?"

The queen shrugged. "All I'm saying is the ap Gwyar boys will be together for Midwinter, even if I have to forge a lot of paperwork to fix the trip."

The knight let out a whoop and jumped into the air before wrapping his arms around Gwen and nearly crushing her in an enormous bear hug. Before anyone else good move, Gwaine was gone, running into the citadel, presumably to find his pesky little brother and throw some clothes in a bag. The remaining knights chuckled and glanced at each other, thrilled for their brother knight.

Gwen smiled wider and shook her head fondly. "Percival, your gift should be in your room right about now. I made you some shirts."

"You _made _me shirts?" the big knight asked, his eyebrows twitching up.

"I noticed you were having some sleeve problems, and I didn't see any point hiring a tailor when I knew your measurements already and had some free time," she said. "So yes, your shirts were made by a queen. Don't complain about the color."

The others laughed at Percival's grimace as Gwen shooed him away. He grabbed his helmet and sword from Galahad as he left, then took Gwaine's for good measure. "Elyan," she said. "_Dear _brother. There's a new hammer in the forge for you. I'm sorry I couldn't get you a chance to use it."

"No problem," the dark skinned knight said with a grin—he'd been eyeing a rather expensive smith's hammer from a nearby shop, and he was fairly certain that was what was waiting for him. "I'll think of something." He grabbed his gear and left.

Leon and Galahad remained. Gwen waved a hand and a servant appeared practically out of nowhere to take the gloves and blankets back into the castle while Leon took his gear from the squire. "Galahad, your present is from both me and Elyan, and it isn't quite finished yet," Gwen said. "I hope you don't mind."

The boy shrugged. "I don't know how it is for Mundies, but gift giving season for magicals doesn't end until after New Year. You can't be late."

"Excellent," she said. "Then do you mind leaving Leon with me for a few minutes. Galahad shrugged again and left, with his usual spring in his step now that he wasn't burdened by heavy bags. Gwen stepped closer and took Leon's hands in her own.

Leon frowned. "What's wrong?"

"…With this being the first midwinter of magic being legal and so many people celebrating a traditional magical midwinter…" Gwen bit her lip. "And there have been some lurking threats from some bordering countries…Leon, I'm sorry, Arthur and I tried everything we could think of, but we have to send you out on patrol before your brother comes. You're to go in five days."

Leon's heart sank, his shoulders slumping and his head drooping a bit. "…I understand," he muttered, staring at the snow-covered ground.

"I am sorry," Gwen began again, but Leon cut her off.

"I've been lucky to get off that day all these years anyway," the knight muttered, but did not make any attempt to leave when the queen rested her hand on his shoulder before kissing his cheek.

"I know how much it means to you," she muttered, squeezing his shoulder before letting him go. "But I do have a gift for you, too, from Arthur as well as me. You've leave to go and visit him after the holidays are over. I know it doesn't mean as much, but it's the most we can do."

Leon smiled sadly. "I suppose that's something, at least. Thank you, Gwen, and tell Arthur thank you, too."

* * *

Gwaine wasn't looking for G'reth; not right away at least. In his opinion, his most annoying brother could stay missing for as long as he liked. Especially as he would (if he could help it) not be back until after the usual celebrations were over, he had some things to deliver.

The first item went to Merlin's rooms with a note; after the ban was lifted on magic, the Court Sorcerer had been moved into a set of chambers more fitting his new statin, chambers he was not happy with and therefore did not spend much time in. Gwaine's quick visit revealed that the warlock was either still out with the druids or holed up in a smaller closet off to the side where something appeared to be singing (and rather off-key, too). The knight chuckled and left the new pair of boots (and a note that said "here's hoping Arthur will never make you clean a room full of these again") beside the door.

Arthur and Gwen's chambers were on the way to Percival's from Merlin's, so Gwaine swung by and left Gwen's present with their maid—a huge bouquet of winter blooming flowers that he'd paid a hedgewitch to enchant to keep fresh for a month. Gwen would love them. Arthur might kill him. It was worth it.

Percival had chambers within the castle like Merlin did, so Gwaine went there next, hanging the pair of new belt on the big knight's door. Gwaine had owed him one ever since he'd sort of destroyed his friend's best belt a month before, in an incident involving a bull, Percival's tunic, Aithusa, and half-eaten blueberry pie.

Then to Elyan's forge—the blacksmith-turned-knight wasn't there, either, probably patrolling the citadel and wishing he could get the chance to try out the shiny hammer on the work table with a note that said "Love, Gwen" underneath. Gwaine shrugged and dropped the Orkneyan scrap metal he'd been hanging on to for Elyan ever since his last visit.

Galahad was harder to find a present for, mostly because the squire was so incredibly contented in whatever situation he happened to find himself in and did not appear to really want anything. Gwaine cursed himself for not being able to think of anything, but ended up dropping a stack of flash paper and a new hunting bow in Galahad's bedroom.

Tristan's gift from all of the Round Table had been to let him slip out, no questions asked, and it was doubtless he was back with his old smuggling troupe by now, so that was taken care of. That just left Arthur and Leon. Gwaine popped off by Leon's family manor to deliver a cask of the finest mead the drunkard had ever come across before searching out the king. What did one give a king? Gwaine had no clue (his father had never been one for gift giving or receiving) so in the end he'd decided information would please Arthur best. He sidled up to the king, exchanged a few pleasantries, then, making sure Gwen was nowhere to be found, muttered into Arthur's ear. "Merlin multitasks and likes things with more than one use."

The king's head jerked toward him so quickly Gwaine was sure he heard his neck pop. Gwaine just wiggled his eyebrows—the challenge the queen had issued Arthur was no secret among the Knights of the Round Table—and stalked off, whistling innocently.

* * *

**And you thought this story would be about Merlin and Arthur again, didn't you? **


	17. Gifts III: December 19 and 20

**Yeah, this month might see more updates than just on Mondays, because this started out as a cute little Christmas arc and now has a plot point in it. You'll see it when we get there. **

* * *

All but Their Majesties saw Gwaine and G'reth off the next morning. Even Merlin stopped by on his rush to somewhere else, just long enough to stuff his gift to Gwaine into the brother's saddle bags and let everyone but Galahad get a good laugh at what the druids had managed to get their king into—a white undershirt, as he apparently hadn't had time get anything else on top, and what appeared to be _two _pairs of trousers, the top pair ripped, all under a thick blue cloak lined with spotty silver fur and topped with a double crown of snowflowers. Galahad just straightened the crown, dusted off the cloak, and asked if he had picked a Lord of Misrule yet.

"Why, Galahad, are you hinting at things?" Merlin asked as the flowers slipped over his eyes again.

A smile tugged at the squire's lips despite his sudden, easy blush. "Er, not at all. Unless you have someone in mind already."

He ruffled Galahad's hair, gave Gwaine a one-armed hug, and scampered off again. "What was that about?" Percival asked, tilting his head at Galahad.

"Just magical traditions," he answered. "I'm sure you'll hear before too long."

Gwaine raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like things might get exciting around here. Almost a shame to leave."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll get all the excitement you can stand in Westmorland," Leon said, and everyone else chuckled. "Tell Garis we said hello, won't you? We're going to have to get him to come to Camelot for a state visit soon."

G'reth sighed loudly from the saddle, and Gwaine grimaced and mounted his own horse. "Sounds like Stupid over there is ready to go. Tell Gwen I said thanks again, Elyan. See you all later." Amid a chorus of goodbyes and waves and a couple of small children chasing after the company, the brothers and their escort galloped out of the city.

The remaining knights sighed and glanced at each other. "I'd like to say things will be quieter with him away…" Leon said, but his eyes shifted toward the small hub of noise just outside the city walls.

"Not during Midwinter in the magical community," Galahad said with a chuckle. "Not for a couple of days, anyway. I hope he writes about how Westmorland's doing."

Elyan chuckled. "If he remembers anything at all beyond pestering Garis. Speaking of pestering, sorry, Galahad, I haven't had the chance to get into the forge, yet."

Leon frowned. "You have been pulling extra duty lately, haven't you?" When the dark-skinned knight nodded, he added, "how about tomorrow?"

"What about tomorrow?"

"I'm on guard duty in the lower town tomorrow. You want to trade me for the castle?"

A smile spread across Elyan's face. "…Really?"

"Your sister isn't the only one who can fake a little paperwork," Leon said. "Go and play in your forge and keep an eye on the people who pass by and we can pretend you spent all day walking in circles around the citadel. My gift to you."

Elyan grinned openly and grabbed Leon's arm in a knight's handshake. "Best one I've ever gotten. I've _missed _the forge."

"We've noticed," Percival said, helping Galahad situate the three or four bags he'd dropped when Merlin had rushed up. "Not to ruin the moment or anything, but we've still got training today, remember?" The others groaned and laughed and headed toward the training grounds, but not before Percival noticed a sort of wistful look in Leon's eye as he glanced toward the north side of the nobleman's district.

* * *

The next day Elyan walked into his late father's forge and released a small sigh of contentment, leaning against the wood frame. The man who usually took care of things when Elyan was busy with his knight's duties had already lit the fires and left, and the warm glow from that distance made the smith's son feel more awake and alive than anything else he could think of. With a small smile he strode toward a thick barrel and opened it, pulling out a thick, cloth-covered bundle. He set the bundle on his worktable, his grin broadening when he saw the long line of things already there—Gwen's hammer, a curious metal he'd never worked with before that he only just recognized was from Old Orkney, a fireproofing charm, a charm to keep the forge fires hot, a sack of charcoal, a few bars of iron. Nice to know his friends remembered that he loved smithing, even if it was just more of a hobby now.

He rolled the cloth out, wincing a little at the half-finished projects he was going to have to redo now. A dagger for Merlin, a helmet for Gwaine, a heavier grade chainmail for Percival, crossbow bolts for Arthur, a filigree cloak clasp for Leon and a gold necklace for Gwen despite the fact that he usually didn't work with finer metals. And Galahad's sword. He picked up the blade and ran his fingers over the flat of it. This he'd been working on more than the others, and it may make it without a complete forging. He'd been using the pattern his father had laid out for what had become Arthur's dragon sword, and Elyan knew this copy had to be perfect.

Elyan squeezed the bellows and watched the warm coals flare up, then hung the hot charm from a loose brick over the opening and grabbed his tongs. Time to go to work.

* * *

**Want to know a secret? I'm not a big Elyan fan. I liked him okay, but I never really saw the point of him, and I don't care for writing him. Sorry, Elyan. **


	18. Gifts IV: December 21

**This is late. I am a horrible person. My only excuse is this was finals week, which isn't even a very good one because I didn't have many finals and they were easy, but I decided to be lazy because I was taking tests. *sulks* Anyway, a bit of Rome and a dash of Medieval England in this chapter.**

* * *

The wild woops began at midnight, but most of the denizens of Camelot slept through them.

When they continued through to the next morning was when problems began developing.

"What are they _doing?_" Leon asked, his whole face scrunching in distaste as the singing and revelry managed to penetrate the castle walls. He and Elyan were in the armory, polishing their own armor. Elyan claimed the personal touch mattered in winter and Leon went along with it, but really the two men were hiding from the mass of magicians dancing through the streets wearing ridiculous masks and singing songs that only half made sense.

Elyan shrugged, but he kept one eye on the doorway at all times. "No clue. Whatever it is, it looks mad, and it's only the magicians affected."

"That can't be a coincidence. Where's Percival and Galahad?" He hit his rag against his helmet as a group outside hit a particularly high note.

Elyan was about to answer when Arthur strode through the room. "Have any of you seen Merlin at all?" he demanded, and a bit of cotton poked out of one ear. "I've been meaning to figure out what this…"

"Cacophony?" Leon suggested.

"Yes, this cacophony is all about, thank you, Leon," the King said with a twisted smile and a nod.

"Last we saw him a bunch of druids were carrying him away on a chair and chanting something about the downfall of kings," Elyan said. "Percival and Galahad slipped off shortly after that, looking a bit like small boys released early from lessons."

Arthur's eyebrows twitched. "When was this, exactly?"

"Early this morning."

"Very early," Leon said, rolling his eyes. "The sun had barely risen. Perhaps it would be best if someone went and looked for them?"

There was a long silence as the three friends stared at each other before they began to grin and head out of the armory together. They passed the hall that lead to Gaius' chambers, jam-packed with children with snotty noses and colds, sorcerers and sorceresses who had apparently been celebrating a little too hard, and frostbitten first-year knights who had ignored their elders' warnings about cold weather clothing and armor. The noise was louder there, as the inebriated and injured magicians were continuing to sing their ridiculous songs despite their various states of unhealthiness, and the children were picking up on the melodies, to their parents' despair. Then out into the courtyard, where it was all the guards could do to keep the magical revelers under control, especially seeing as the guards with magical inclinations were joining in rather than keeping the peace. Out of the courtyard, the lower town looked to be in shambles. The mundane crowd had no clue what was going on. Half of them were terrified, and the other half were joining in—they may not have understood, but they knew a party when they saw it.

It took the better part of an hour for the three men to force their way through the ever-thickening crowd, especially with the magical community, for some reason, tugging on Arthur's cloak and calling him ridiculous names. When they did finally breach the city gates and enter the druid camp, it was to a fantastic sight. The druids had melted away most of the snow and dried the mud into hard-packed dirt on which to dance—and Percival was beside the gates, in sleeveless fool's motley, turning cartwheels for a crowd of children gathered.

"…That's it," Elyan said, while Arthur and Leon watched, mouths hanging open, as the biggest knight of Camelot walked on his hands with his eyes crossed and his tongue sticking out. "They're all insane. They've lost their minds. Probably the work of an enchantment. Morgana still around?"

"Elyan!" Leon shouted as Percival noticed them, blushed bright red, and fell over backwards, landing awkwardly on his back. The three rushed over, and Galahad melted in from the crowd nearby to join them, worry etched on his features. It wasn't the only thing etched on his features—someone had painted blushing red circles on the young squire's cheeks and little white stars around his eyes.

Momentarily shocked by Galahad's colorful face and bizarre, overly-wealthy clothing, the squire reached Percival first. "Are you all right?" he said while the druid children crowded nearby and tittered nervously.

"Fine," Percival said with a groan and a chuckle. "Knocked the wind out of me, but I'm fine. Hello, you," he waved up at the three newcomers from the ground.

Seeing Arthur, the children screeched in delight and ran forward, practically attacking him. They tugged at his trousers and ripped his cloak, tickled his ribs, and pulled his ears. Leon and Elyan froze, unsure of what to do, as Arthur began yelp-laughing in alarm. Percival just pulled himself up and began to chuckle.

Galahad let out a high-pitched whistle. "Courtiers!" he bellowed in a surprisingly good imitation of Arthur on a bad day. On the other hand, they were all nearly bellowing over the din of the camp. The children went still and fell away from the King of Albion, giggling and shrieking with laughter. "That's not how you treat your good servant, Arthur," he scolded with a mock frown. "Go off and find a dog to wrestle with if you wish to play rough. I think Elder Baton is free." A shout of delight and the small army scampered off toward the camp proper.

Percival dusted himself off while Leon and Elyan pulled a bewildered Arthur to his feet. "What in the name of Camelot was _that?_" the king said, trying to straighten his ruined hair and stop his voice from squeaking.

"Sorry, sire," Percival said, his face still bright red. "We didn't expect you to come out of the castle—and Merlin said he warned you…well, he said he thought maybe only Gwen was listening at the time—"

"Warned me about _what?_" Arthur demanded.

The two not-quite-magicians glanced at each other. "It's the Bruma today, the longest night and shortest day of the year," Galahad explained. "The magical holiday is Saturnalia."

Leon frowned. "_Saturnalia?_"

"I know I probably shouldn't be joining in, but Munsalvaesche has been screaming in my head all week," Percival said with an even deeper blush. "I was kind of looking forward to it. Sorry, should have actually requested off, but—"

"Naw, running away's the nature of the day," Galahad said. "Technically Saturnalia started five days ago and the actual day is the Bruma, but we only do this on the Bruma, so this became Saturnalia—"

"Galahad," Leon said while Elyan hid a growing smile. "Breathe, and start over."

The squire rubbed his face, smearing his rouge, and took a deep breath. "Saturnalia begins when the King—Merlin, in this case—selects a peasant to be the King-For-A-Day. They're called the Lord of Misrule. The King is then dethroned.

"You missed it, Arthur, you would have loved it," Percival said with a wicked grin. "They melted snow and tossed Merlin out of his throne into a mud puddle. He's still getting vegetables thrown at him every time someone recognizes him."

Galahad's own lips twitched even higher. "Then the Lord of Misrule—or Lady, good job on young Aalis for getting it this year—announces the beginning of the beginning of Saturnalia and we sort of…"

"Riot," Arthur said. "Looks more like a riot than anything else.

The two magicians started to protest, but were interrupted by one druid man throwing another into a table behind them. The table shattered beneath the second man's weight and both fell into a patch of snow, laughing. "It's not a riot," Percival said.

"It's a tradition of changing places," Galahad added. "Most rules are suspended for the day. Squires become captains—"

"—and knights become fools," Percival said. "Well, not just fools, but I decided I wanted to be a fool."

"Right," the squire went on. "Masters become servants and servants become masters."

_It's a good thing this holiday wasn't in place when Merlin was my servant, _Arthur thought briefly, shuddering at the things Merlin could have made him do. "…Why?" was all he could manage to say.

Galahad sobered. "Because this is the longest night of the year, sire. This night and the nights that follow, more than any others, are when the dark powers and the work of evil are strongest, and the good are at their weakest. We celebrate the day while it lasts, because tomorrow may be a thousand years away."


	19. Gifts V: December 22

**Random ideas not specific to any sort of culture of tradition or legend coming up; also, real time! **

* * *

The citizens of the city awoke the next day feeling better and more peaceful than they had since the druids arrived. Many stepped out of their homes and peeked out of windows to discover the snow was back and any sort of damage or mischief the magical community had caused yesterday had been reversed—Camelot was back to normal. A sleepy, relaxed feeling spread over the lower town as the Mundane began practicing their usual Midwinter traditions without the din and chaos the magical community tended to create, and about noon, realized just how quiet it was. The druid camp was still there, and the sorcerer-guards still at their posts, and magical neighbors bright-eyed and grim-faced, but not a sound came from any of them.

This was creating a problem in the castle, too. After a long night of Merlin running in and out in various states of dress and undress, a focused sort of partial panic imprinted on his face, asking after such-and-such and so-and-so before dashing out again, the Court Magician was now doing his rounds in silence, and Arthur was concerned.

"Merlin, would you just tell me what's going on?" the king said, following his friend, concerned and trying not to show it. The warlock shook his head, a pained look in his eyes, and darted out a side door to head back to the druid camp. Arthur's shoulders slumped, and he turned around to see his knights walking toward him, Percival trailing reluctantly behind and Galahad nowhere to be seen.

"Percival's not talking to us, either," Elyan said in what was meant to be a comforting tone. "I'm sure it's some kind of magical thing and we're not meant to understand." He shot a little glare at the man behind them. Percival blushed and mouthed "sorry."

Leon shook his head. "Don't worry, Arthur, I'm sure nothing's wrong—"

"Yesterday they were making utter idiots of themselves, no offense, Percival," Arthur began, "And Galahad and Merlin both spent the entire evening muttering about the 'All-Dark' and debating on Morgana's whereabouts and radical druid groups and evil creatures. Now no one is saying a word and I haven't even _seen _Galahad—"

"He's in Avalon," Percival said in a hoarse whisper. The others jumped in surprise and stared.

"Percival, you spoke," Elyan said, raising an eyebrow.

Leon, on the other hand, took a more practical approach. "What in the name of Albion is he doing in _Avalon? _Isn't that full of dead people and monsters?"

The big knight sighed and waved them into a small room off to the side of the hallway. They went in, Leon and Elyan sitting at the table while Arthur and Percival remained standing. Percival glanced nervously once at the door before continuing, still in a whisper. "The days after the Bruma are days of tension and challenge. This is still the time of evil's peak strength, and it will be until the Rebirth of the Sun a few days from now. Each day is a different message to the gathered forces of evil. Yesterday, we reveled, to show 'We Are Many.'"

Leon frowned and tapped his chin. "All the noise did make it seem like there were a lot more people around than there actually were…"

"Why didn't you just tell us this yesterday?" Arthur asked, crossing his arms in worry.

"We were all busy," Percival whispered. "Today is another holiday: the Silence of the Light. All people with magic remain silent today, because 'We Are Vigilant.'"

The knights looked at each other and shrugged. "So," Elyan began, "the forces of darkness can't try anything today, because they're being watched?"

"Pretty much," Percival said. "I still have the option, because I'm not actually _in _Munsalvaesche right now, but…" he winced, and a muscle in his jaw twitched, the first sign of discomfort he'd shown since the holidays began. "Munsalvaesche has been rather insistent about my part in these things. I've been having headaches."

"But why is Galahad in Avalon?" Arthur said. "I thought it was impossible for people that are completely alive to travel back and forth."

"Humans, maybe, but don't forget Galahad's mother was one-quarter elf. Freya popped by camp for a few minutes yesterday. She and Merlin had a rather intense conversation, and Merlin sent Galahad with her. Avalon has to be twice as vigilant as everyone else, it seems, and Freya needs another set of hands for the day…"

Arthur nodded and began to pace. "All right, I suppose. I can use the time to…to think of what I'm going to give the idiot, I guess…"

The knights glanced at each other again. "Arthur, is something wrong?" Elyan asked, quirking an eyebrow up.

"Nothing really, it's just…" The king sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I had really hoped I could spend midwinter with my friends, properly, for the first time, and instead all this magic keeps getting in the way, and Gwen's talking about leaving me for a bunch of old friends in a couple of days…" he sighed again before pointing an accusing finger at his friends. "And this doesn't leave this room, by the way, or there will be no gifts for you lot."

"Of course not, sire," Leon said, and Percival frowned and stared at him, noting the much deeper sadness in his eyes and Arthur's suddenly guilty expression.

"Sorry," the king said, pointed more to Leon than anyone else. "Well…there's still us, even if Percival won't be talking anymore. What do you three say to a _very _quick hunting trip?"

* * *

The hunting trip _was_ very quick, not taking more than four or five hours, and while Elyan and Leon took their single-stag prey to the kitchens, Percival snuck away to his own chambers. He reached under his bed and pulled out a few small sacks before tossing them over his shoulder and jogging off to drop off his presents. He would have preferred to deliver them in person, but with everyone busy and "all this magic" going on, this would have to do.

First was Arthur and Gwen. Gwen was in the servant's quarters, rearranging work schedules for the third time with all the servants getting their midwinter break, so the royal chambers were empty. Percival draped the string of pearls around the vase of purple flowers he knew had come from Gwaine. Then over to Arthur's desk, where he dropped an envelope containing suggestions for romantic gifts for one's sweetheart. That was delivered with a much sadder smile—Percival had had a sweetheart before Cenred's men destroyed his home. The big knight brushed a single tear away and left.

Percival's last state visit had been more fruitful than most. Two bottles of Munsalvaechean ale and a small vial of hangover medication went into Gwaine's room, as Percival hadn't been inclined to risk the bottles breaking on the road to Westmorland, and decent sized basket of dried Munsalvaeschean herbs, most with magical qualities, went to Gaius, who thanked him with a bright smile and a clap on the shoulder.

Merlin got a curiosity more than anything else; at a northern corner of the magical kingdom was a cave full of icicles that never melted, and Percival had sawed off a few of them along with a small book explaining the cave, the properties of the enchanted ice, and the legends surrounding both. Then to the forge, where Elyan was left griffin- and wyvern-hide leather.

Galahad, on the other hand, would get his gift in person, and that was in the stables. The squire was hard to think of presents for, but in the end, Percival had gone with a red saddle blanket and wyvern-leather saddle for his precious horse Joya.

That just left Leon, who was the hardest of all for Percival. He had grabbed a one-use Mundy-capable healing spell on his way back out of desperation (pain relief and sped-up healing, just rip paper, warning, will cause intense drowsiness) but he thought he might have a better idea now. Something was upsetting the man he still considered the "good name" of the Round Table. Perhaps he could fix that.


	20. Gifts VI: December 23

The next day dawned, and with the rising of the sun came an explosion of magic from the city and the camp outside.

Enchanted sparklers, ember dragons, a thousand twinkling lights brightened the city of Camelot until, by the time it was fully bright, many people suspected they'd been blinded. Water ran hot from the city pumps and, once, very briefly, turned to alcohol. Egregious displays of magic were everywhere, the more ridiculous the better, but never more than happy magic or flashy magic.

"So what's today's message, exactly? 'We Have The Ability To Shamelessly Show Off?'" Elyan, nursing a headache, asked Percival. They'd just finished their training for the day, and were heading back into the citadel. Leon chuckled at the comment.

"Er… 'We Are Powerful,' and I'm exempt from this one," Percival said with a light blush. "Galahad should be back soon, too, by the way."

The three moved out of the way of some kind of smoking spark monster, then out of the way of the sorceress who had conjured it, then out of the way of the guard chasing her. Elyan flinched at the bright light as it passed, and the shouting. "Ever notice that sort of thing has suddenly become _normal _now? Camelot's changed."

"A bit, yeah," Leon said with a chuckle. "Sometimes I have to remind myself that magic is legal and I don't have to chase down all those people running rampant in the streets.

Elyan shrugged. "Times like this I think I'd rather arrest them than leave them there." He flinched again as another flash of light flickered through a window. "And now I think I'm going to go…hide. See you later."

They contained their chuckles until the Cameliard prince was out of sight. "He's more than welcome to that fight."

"Too true," Percival said with a small grin. "Leon…I've been meaning to ask you…"

"What?" The oldest knight stopped walking and cast Percival a sideways glance.

"…It seems…" He paused. "The last few days, I've noticed…is there anything wrong?"

Leon's shoulders slumped. "Has it been that obvious?" When Percival didn't say anything, the knight leaned against a wall and sighed. "It's nothing, really…I've just been scheduled to leave on patrol tomorrow."

"And?"

"…I've got an older brother. A proper lord, like Father, with a manor west of Camelot. It's more than a full time job, and he only gets to come into the city one day a year. Tomorrow."

Percival winced. "Oh."

"Yes, _oh._" He scratched the back of his head and stared at the floor. "We've done a big dinner every year, just Father and Wart and a few friends close enough to be immediate family. It's the only day when we can just…be together, and I'm going to miss it. And I'm going off on patrol, and three-fourths of the time I end up practically dead, or all dead, and Father nearly had a heart attack last time…" Leon rubbed his face in his hands and stood up straight again. "It's no use complaining about it now, and I suppose it's not…not that…what on _earth _is he in such a rush about?"

Percival turned around to see Galahad running toward them at full speed, running into walls in a manner that suggested he was Looking Elsewhere at the same time. "…Galahad?" Percival called, raising his eyebrows as Leon's jaw dropped.

"Percival!" the squire cried with a dopey grin, turning toward Percival's voice and knocking over a suit of armor. "I've got _such _news!"

"I'm here, too," Leon said, frowning. Galahad's eyes were pointing two different directions and showing mostly whites, a _definite _sign he was in the midst of a vision. "…What exactly is so engaging that you can't look where you're going, foolish boy?"

"Oh, I'm sort of…in the middle of…a conversation," he said. "Merlin was…right. It is…harder to do two at once, and…this is…awkward, with me not…really being…full druid…" He shook his head, but his eyes still didn't quite focus right. "Merlin and Lady Vivienne are getting married!"

The two knights glanced at each other, amused. "That is what it means to be betrothed," Leon said.

Galahad shook his head. "No, _they're getting married. _They talked about it this morning and they said sooner is better than later and with Midwinter being prime magic time they can do weave some things into the ceremony…"

"…Are you saying what I think we're saying?" Leon asked.

"They're going to be married, within the next two weeks, before the holiday is out!"

The knights looked at each other again, a sort of rushing anticipation building in the pits of their stomachs. Then, Percival's face whitened in horror. "Bags I'm not the one who has to tell Arthur he has less than a fortnight to plan his best friend's wedding."


	21. Gifts VII: December 24

**Okay, finished this just about twenty minutes shy of actual Christmas Eve, sorry. Anyway. Christmas Eve is my FAVORITE day in December, so this chapter will probably be the longest. **

**Lots and lots and LOTS of bromance this chapter. Enjoy. **

**I make no comment as to the finale, because I am still processing and possibly slightly in denial. *wibbles* **

* * *

The door to the physician's chambers cracked open, allowing a small beam of light to cut through the dark room. Gaius glanced up before turning back to his work. "Oh, there you are, Merlin," he said, still puttering around at his work table in the dim. "I wasn't expecting you. Careful with the door, there; I'm working on a medicine with Percival's new herbs and one of them seems to be rather light-sensitive—"

"Hello, Gaius."

The old man froze at the sound of the withered and decidedly female voice, his eyes widening. He slowly turned around on his stool.

Alice stood in front of the crack in the doorway, framed in light, with Merlin's grinning face poking in behind her.

"…Alice," he breathed before standing. They stepped toward each other, moving slowly as if they dared to believe their own eyes, and embraced in the middle of the room, Gaius chuckling softly around the tears in his eyes. They stepped away and held each other at arm's length.

A small sound echoed through the chambers; the door had squeaked as Merlin edged it closed. "Merlin!" Gaius said, taking his love's hand and pulling her toward the door. "What did you do?"

The warlock stopped, poked his head through the door again, and smiled. "I've had her pardon for a week now, but it took me some time to track her down again. It's your Midwinter gift." Gaius stared, speechless. "…Surprise!" Merlin added with a nervous little laugh.

"Oh, my _dear _boy—" he said, pulling his ward inside and letting go of Alice to wrap him in a great bear hug. Merlin smiled into Gaius' shoulder. "…Thank yo—"

"Ah," Merlin said, backing off; he still couldn't stand to be thanked. Gaius smiled at him. "Now, I'm just going to make myself scarce. You two have a good time catching up."

Alice frowned. "Oh, Merlin, I wouldn't want to kick you out of your room—"

"Don't worry," the warlock said. "I've got other plans for Eve of Peace. Freya and I do have a wedding to plan."

He slunk out again, leaving the two alone in the dark. Gaius smiled gently and once again took Alice's hands. "Have you ever worked with herbs from Munsalvaesche, my love?"

* * *

Ruling an estate that still primarily consisted of sorcerers meant a lot of posturing and tolerance and extra work during the holidays; Garis was exhausted. He hadn't gotten the chance to do much more than see his visiting brothers, he'd been so busy. Not even the Silence of the Light had been peaceful, as the young lord understood exactly what sort of threats his magical citizens were watching out for and the near-universal hush across the land had unnerved and silenced even Gwaine. Now Declaration of Enchantment had ended as well, and Garis had very nearly collapsed in bed out of sheer relief; Peace of Eve was only a small breather before the twelve-day Festival of Light that would begin tomorrow. Instead, he worried a hand through his shaggy red hair—he'd been too busy to get it cut—and slumped in his chair, bone-weary and anxious.

"Wow. You look _horrible._"

"Go away, Gwaine," he groaned, not looking up at the newcomer, but smiling nonetheless. He listened to his older brother pad his way across the room. He must have dozed off for a second, too, because before he knew it, a hand dropping onto the top of his head was startling him awake.

"Fair way to treat the man likely to keep you sane 'til new year," Gwaine said, his voice soft and fond. He motioned to a servant outside the hall. "Dinner for four, if you don't mind."

Garis swallowed another groan. "Oh, sweet Camelot, Gwin, I forgot about you coming in this evening."

The elder knight chuckled. "Relax, the other two forgot, too. I've called Gravain in from the training grounds—does he _sleep _there, too? The insolent pup's stolen my hair, too, have you noticed, and he'll be copying my voice next. And I think I've managed to drag G'reth, that _idiot, _away from the poor Lion woman he's been trailing ever since we got here. If I'm lucky, he won't want to leave."

A weary smirk crossed Garis' face. "Joy. I'm not sure which is more daft, the fact that G'reth's found a girl, or the fact that she seems to like him back."

"They're both in over their heads, if you ask me," Gwaine said. "Daft or not, he'll be here, soon, and Gravain, too. Are you sure you're all right?"

"Just overworked. I swear, Emrys and Vivienne are probably the only two people in all of Albion more tired than I am now." He yawned and rubbed his eyes, cursing winter and snow and changing hours. "I'm sorry I've not been a better host."

Gwaine chuckled somewhere by his ear and squeezed his shoulder. "Your subjects have been more than willing to entertain. Besides, I'm getting to see you at your finest. You may not ever want to be king, but you were born to command _something. _I should know. You've been bossing me around ever since you were old enough to talk."

Garis laughed, a strong, heady, deep laugh that made Gwaine smile, too, and leaned back, gently butting the back of his head into his brother's chest. "…Oh, I'm glad you're here, Gwin. So glad you're here."

Gwaine smirked and ruffled his brother's hair. "My pleasure. And maybe we can see about a haircut after dinner. I don't need _two _ginger mini-Gwaines running around Westmorland."

* * *

Leon tightened his grip on the reigns and gave Camelot's towers another wistful glance as he lead his horse out of the stables and past the gates of the city proper. A band of about thirty knights and five of Merlin's fighting sorcerers had gathered there, ready to head out on patrol. It was a shorter run, if that was any consolation at all, and he'd only be gone a few days, but it was a few days too late, as far as he was concerned. He straightened up as he drew closer, his mouth set in a firm, threatening line. It was his job. More than that, his duty. It wasn't the end of the world.

He would have kept walking toward the group, too, if another knight hadn't caught his arm. "Oh, Sir Leon, I'd hoped I'd catch you before you were completely ready," he said, sounding a bit disappointed.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Leon asked, frowning. A hundred scenarios flittered through his head of things bad enough that people were seeking _him, _eldest of the Inner Round Table, specifically.

"Nothing's wrong, sir," the young man said. "It's just, we don't need you, after all."

His eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. "What do you mean, you don't need me?"

The man glanced toward the end of the line of armed knights. "We had two volunteers, Senior knights, step forward at the last minute. There's not really much point having three of you along, is there? You're eldest, so you get to go home."

Leon's frown faded as he scanned the line, daring to hope. His eyes caught a sudden unnatural movement close to the end—Percival and Elyan were there, in full armor, waving at him. He left his horse's reigns in the young knight's hands and jogged toward the others, grinning at him like a pair of fools. "What do you two think you're doing?" he asked as he came within hearing distance.

"It's your Midwinter present," Percival said. "Enjoy it, will you?"

"But—but—"

"I don't really have anyone to celebrate with tonight," the big knight went on. "And don't go feeling sorry for me. I'm fine. All the big, happy families cozying up together is a bit nauseating, that's all."

"And we've _both_ been nothing but in pain for the last few days," Elyan chipped in. "Me from all the lights and sounds and Percival from Munsalvaesche telling him what to do. We could both get away from the city. Gwen's with friends I don't know and I'd rather _not _ride all the way through Old Orkney to celebrate where my uncle has stationed Cameliard this month just to be bombarded by more celebrating magicians. We could both use some time away from the city."

"And a chance to get to tell everyone else what to do," Percival added, looking mischievously at the company of young, eager faces looking up at the senior knights with varying degrees of hero-worship.

Elyan nodded. "And according to Percival here, you'd like some time off, too."

Leon opened his mouth, then closed it, then grinned, his smile wavering a little. "…I…I don't know what to say…"

Elyan rolled his eyes. "Then don't say anything! Go! If you hurry, they may not have started without you!"

He jumped. "Right!" he said, waving them off and yelling for the knight to give his horse to a stable boy as he dashed off. The sun was setting and the streets were mostly empty, leaving him free to run through the lower town into the councilman's district without worrying about running anyone over. Still dressed in full armor, he ran up to the door of North Manor and leaned against the frame for a long moment, catching his breath. Then he stood up straight and knocked. Usually he'd barge right in, but for all intents and purposes he should have been out of Camelot by now—he needed to knock.

Standing there, slowly getting covered in heavy-falling snow, his breath misting before him, he could feel the warmth from the fire through the door and hear the low murmur of voices. A warm feeling rose in his chest—it felt like _home_, plain and simple. He knocked again, a little harder, and this time the voices settled and he heard a chair scraping on the floor. The voices picked up again. He waited a few moments more and was about to knock again and the door swung open, revealing Andrivete North in a loose, comfortable gown, blinking at him in disbelief. "…Leon?"

"Ann," he whispered, grinning in spite of himself.

She frowned. "…Aren't you supposed to be on your way into the Darkling Woods right now?" Her frown deepened. "Don't tell me you've just come to say goodbye. That's just too cruel."

"No," he said. "Um…do you mind letting me in? It's sort of cold out here."

She blinked again, then swung the door open a bit wider. "Come on, then. Come in. Hold on and I'll get that chainmail off of you. You know how Mother feels about armor and weapons in the house."

He chuckled and stepped inside with a shiver, undoing his sword belt and dropping it on a bench lining the wall. "Yes, sorry. This was all a bit of a rush, really." He undid the clasp and pulled off the shoulder plate.

She harrumphed at him, pushing the heavy door closed with her back. "Arms up," she said briskly, already brushing her hands against his sides. He laughed and lifted his arms, allowing her to pull the chainmail shirt over his head. "Hey, people, come look what the cat dragged in!" she yelled into the other room as he tucked his shirt in and rubbed his arms, still fighting a bit of a chill.

There was a confused sound, and the sound of more scraping chairs. Lady and Lord North came in first—Lady North released an exclamation of joy and came over to pinch his cheeks as always while her husband came forward to clap Leon on the shoulder. Lord Ector came in next ("Son! Why the devil didn't you _tell _us you'd be able to show up after all!") and Guinevere after him ("What are you still doing here?" though she was clearly thrilled to see him).

"Uh, Percival and Elyan took my place," he said, a little sheepishly as the Queen of all Albion beamed at him and kissed his cheek. He looked up and his blush deepened. Standing in the entryway was Walter de Kay, taller and less muscular than his younger brother, but with the same tawny hair and clear green eyes. His wife, a small, delicate, doll-like noblewoman called Helre stood next to him.

"Hello, little lion," Walter said, his voice deep and resonate.

Leon snurled his nose in distaste. "Hello, great wart."

The two stared at each other, tense and angry, for only a second longer before Walter broke and grinned, crossing the room to grasp his brother by the shoulders and look him up and down before pulling him close. The entire company laughed and slapped the pairs' backs while Ector stepped forward and finished off the family hug. Babbling to each other about conquests and land gains, the brothers led the way back into the dining room.

* * *

Loneliness did not become the King of Albion, Arthur told himself, but he was lonely regardless. He had dismissed George for the night several hours before (and he _had _to get a servant with an actual sense of humor for times like these, or he was going to go _mad_) and had resigned himself to a long evening of paperwork. A long night that turned into a short evening. Gwen had been taking care of paperwork all week, leaving a lot less for Arthur to drown his sorrows in than he would have liked. He poured himself a goblet of mulled wine and walked over to the window, looking to the twinkling lights of the city and the druid camp outside its walls. He sighed and rocked back on his heels, ignoring the hollow feeling in his stomach that told him not having the heart to eat didn't excuse him from actually eating anything. He sipped from his cup before tearing himself away from the window and wandering back over to his desk, fishing around. There had to be _something _left unfinished for him to work on.

The door opened. The king tensed, hand going for the dagger on the table. "…Who's there?" he called, gripping the handle tightly.

A rather ridiculous raven-topped face peeked its way around a tapestry. "Only me, Clotpole."

"_Mer_lin," Arthur growled, feeling much warmer now, dropping the dagger. "You nearly gave me a heart attack."

"I don't see why. I never knock." The warlock swaggered in, tray in hands filled with an assortment of meats, fruits, cheeses, and sweets. "I hope you've got mulled wine in here. What am I saying? It's you in winter. Of course there's mulled wine."

"What exactly do you think you're doing?" Arthur asked, folding his arms across his chest and Merlin sat down at the breakfast table and crunched into an apple.

He chewed for a bit, but didn't bother swallowing before replying. "Eating. Why, what are you doing?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Don't you have some druid-king business to attend to? Or a wedding to plan?"

Merlin shrugged. "Magical weddings don't need all that much planning. Freya and I talked dates and extra spells this afternoon, but she was far more interested in kidnapping Galahad to make sure nothing was disturbed in the Lands of the Dead. And today's Eve of Peace. No one needs me. I figured I may as well come up and give you your present, since I have nothing better to do." The shining-fond look in his eyes as he glanced sideways at his friend belayed the casual tone of the words. He took another huge bite of apple, eyeing the pitcher on Arthur's desk as he chewed. "You could come over here and eat something. George said you skipped dinner tonight. You must be hungry."

"I don't need you and George _mothering _me," Arthur said.

"I brought your favorite."

"_Not _pickled eggs?"

Merlin smirked and held up a large bunch of green grapes. That did it. The king broke out into a huge grin and headed over. "Don't forget the pitcher!" Merlin shouted. Arthur rolled his eyes and grabbed the wine as he went.

He set the pitcher down on the table. "You're in my chair."

"Tough."

Arthur sighed sharply and pushed Merlin out of the seat with his hip. Merlin hit the floor with a yelp, causing the king to snort. Merlin butted Arthur's leg, and after a bit of arguing and half-hearted wrestling, they ended up sharing the chair. Merlin glared as the king popped a grape into his mouth and smirked, looking for the world like his sister. "I don't know if you've noticed, Merlin, but you've got these _huge _bags under your eyes. That really can't be healthy."

Merlin grinned, finishing off his apple. "Can't it just? I'm running on energy potions and sheer willpower at the moment, and I shall likely hibernate when the Festival of Light is over. Freya's the same."

"Mmm. Midwinter that brutal?"

"You have no idea. Cake?"

"Don't mind if I do."

"Give up watching your waistline, did you?"

Arthur groaned and Merlin cackled and passed him a slice of cake, taking a piece of ham for himself. He pulled a small cloth sack seemingly out of thin air—Arthur's eyes widened in delight; he'd _never _get tired of that sort of thing—and slid it in front of the king. "There you go, Prat. I've always touched up the enchantments on your armor and finished the dungeons as well, but Midwinter gifts are supposed to be _fun _as well as practical."

Arthur gave him a curious look and shook the contents of the sack onto his hand. "…You got me a cloak clasp," he said, running his thumb over the plain silver. "Not even a very _interesting _clasp either."

The warlock rolled his eyes. "I _enchanted _you a cloak clasp, you idiot. There's a "don't-notice-me" spell on it."

Arthur bit down his initial feelings of _oh-sweet-Camelot-this-thing-is-magical?!_ and instead raised an eyebrow. "Why would I need a don't-notice-me spell?"

"In case you need to do any sneaking around. Or in case _we _need to do some sneaking around. I'm tired of covering for you. I've got a neckerchief with the same spell."

"No, I mean why don't-notice-me? Wouldn't an invisibility spell be more practical?"

"Everyone _thinks _that," Merlin said, and the exasperation in his voice told Arthur he'd had this argument before. "But it's not true. A don't-notice-me gives you the same protection…_and _an alibi. People who see you will remember seeing you _after _the fact, but they won't quite remember _where_."

It was one of the best presents he'd ever gotten, but he wasn't about to tell Merlin that. "That does sound a bit handier. Not sure about the _fun _part."

Merlin snorted. "Clearly you don't have much of an imagination in the way of pranks. This little beauty can make a person think they're losing their mind, if you use it right."

"Oh really?" The king slowly smiled.

His friend caught on quickly. "…After we finish eating, do you want to try it out?"

"You read my mind."

"Thanks, but I'm not quite _that _powerful."

* * *

**Note: That "Lion" girl G'reth was attracted to? In legend, Gareth marries a girl called either Lyonesse or Lyonorr, and Garis marries her sister Lynette/Lyonette. Still debating on what's going on there, in terms of this story, but have fun with that fact anyway. Also, Kay was originally just Arthur's brother, but I've given Leon an older brother because younger brothers are typically the knights of the family. And I've called him Walter as an excuse to call him Wart, thank you T. H. White. **

**Have a merry Christmas Eve!**

**ed: reposted because, like a dingbat, I forgot scene breaks.**


	22. Gifts VIII: December 25

**He he, I got lazy. Then we went to Grandma's and got snowed in, a bit. Just a one day delay. But it gave me the chance to help my myriad of small cousins build a snowman that ended up being taller than my 6' little brother. Fun times!**

**Hopefully I'll be able to get another chapter to you today, especially as the Camelot crew is running out of holiday to celebrate and small time skips will begin again.**

* * *

When the day marking the druidic Rebirth of the Sun dawned, only Leon was there to greet it. Well, Leon and the druids, who had greatly calmed down their wild celebrations and had lit what looked like thousands of candles and launched them into the sky, holding them there with magic. He stood on the castle parapets, watching the twinkling lights and the listening to the sounds of joy fluttering up from the druid camp and the lower town.

"They'll stay there all day, you know," Merlin's voice said, suddenly right next to him, making him jump and very nearly fall off the castle. "The lights, I mean," the warlock added, sounding greatly amused.

The knight glared at him. "Was the sneaking up on me completely necessary, Merlin?"

He had the decency to blush. He removed his neckerchief, which suddenly make him seem a lot more solid. "Sorry, Leon. I forgot I had this on. Arthur was being irritating last night."

"I thought you were usually the irritating one?"

"The prat has his moments," Merlin said with a small, fond smile. "How was your dinner? Gwen came in late last night and said she had a wonderful time."

Leon grinned at the candles. "Brilliant, actually. Saw my brother. Had a small food fight with the Queen of Albion. Got stuck under the mistletoe with my best friend's mother."

"And you people say _magical _ traditions are strange," the magician muttered under his breath, making Leon laugh.

"…Best of all," the knight said, his grin growing wider. "My brother's wife is with child. I'm going to be an uncle, Merlin."

Merlin laughed and gave Leon a one-armed hug, the most he could do with the knight still clinging to the parapets as if he'd lose his balance at any moment. "Congratulations, Leon! I suppose that explains the small measure of tipsiness?"

Leon grimaced. "How'd you know?"

"If a person spends enough time with Gwaine, they learn the signs of every level of intoxication," he said, pulling a small vial out of his pocket and handing it to him. "Drink this and the buzz should wear off in an hour or so."

Leon knocked the potion back, wincing at the taste. The two stood side by side, leaning against the castle wall, staring as the blinking lights below mirrored the ones above, currently winking out in the rosy glow of the rising sun. "…How long with the candles be there, anyway?"

Merlin cocked his head, thinking. "The druids will keep them airborne until the Festival of Light ends, twelve days from now. They may add more. The better part of the celebration is over. You'll find the magical community much calmer now than before."

The knight hummed in appreciation. "Elyan will be happy to hear that. He and Percival will probably be back in about four days, maybe five."

"Gwaine's due back then, too," Merlin said. "I think Freya will be finished with Galahad by tomorrow, probably."

"And Arthur's got a council meeting, so he and Gwen are busy…"

Merlin smirked. "And him with hardly any sleep, too. That's amusing."

Leon chuckled. "So it's just you and me, for this 'Rebirth of the Sun' business, unless you've got some sort of kingly duties to uphold, or a wedding to plan."

"We've already done most of our planning, and I think we've set the date for as soon as everyone gets back," Merlin said. "I think I do have maybe a couple of things I'm supposed to do…" He grabbed the sleeve of Leon's shirt and started pulling him away from the edge of the wall. "How would you like to come with me and explore a traditional magical holiday from the inside, Sir Leon?"

A little chill of excitement and apprehension raced its way down Leon's spine. "…I think I'd love to, Lord Emrys. Lead the way."

* * *

Hours after sunset, Leon staggered into his room in the family manor and collapsed onto his bed, nearly onto a small pile of presents, which he groaned when he saw. He'd meant to get those passed out today, and now he was far too tired (and far too covered in lamp oil and candlewax from helping a group of druid children make their own little lights) to care. He sat up, blinking blearily, and glared at the items—a Pendragon crest cloak clasp for Galahad, a wool travel blanket for Percival, a small throwing knife for Gwaine, an enchanted saddle blanket for Elyan, a collar for the hunting hound he'd gotten Arthur, silk for a dress for Gwen, a smaller basket for Gaius, a handful of new neckerchief for Merlin—before pushing them all off his bed and curling up under the covers. He'd drop everything off in everyone's rooms tomorrow. Now, he wanted sleep, and he couldn't understand why Merlin wasn't hibernating already. Magical holidays were _exhausting. _


	23. Gifts IX: December 31

Arthur had always thought, if Merlin ever did marry, it would be a private affair with his closest friends.

That was before the whole "Court Magician" thing. And even then, he forgot to factor in the whole "King of the Druids" bit. And never in his wildest dreams did he see himself presiding over the ceremony. Then again, when Emrys of Prophecy, King of the Druids and the Lady of the Lake, Queen of Avalon promised themselves to each other, who else was of high enough rank to join them except the King of Albion?

Of course, Arthur thought with a shiver, they _had _to have the wedding outside as well. He'd asked Merlin why they couldn't just use the great hall and be done and Merlin had given him a look and asked if he'd wanted the castle floors mussed forever. So he'd followed his magician out with the rest of the wedding party and begrudgingly admitted that the enchanted results looked even nicer than his and Gwen's original flowery wedding plans.

Instead of clearing away the snow, the druids in charge of "decorating" the site had frozen it over. The hard-packed ground was not slippery and very safe to walk on, but a little troubling in that the walker never left a single footprint. Of course not; that could disturb the lines. They'd carved, then magically dyed, then refrozen over dozens of arcane lines and circles and words into the ground and upon the plain, icy arches that marked the path of the bride to her groom. The lines glowed periodically as people mulled about, prodding this and muttering here. Even the surrounding trees had things written on them, their branches frozen solid to allow a better carving surface, not that that made any sense to the mundane in attendance.

Nearly every member of the druid camp stood on either side of the archway, silent and reverent and waiting. "Speaking of which, what are we waiting for?" Gwaine hissed to Percival next to him. The Lord of Orkney had returned, sans G'reth, the night before, and Percival and Elyan's patrol had been back since before that.

Leon glared at the whispering knight, but Percival only smiled and shrugged. "I'm not sure. They've got physical spells worked in everywhere, so my guess is they're waiting for Merlin to lead off whatever ceremony comes first."

"Protections spells, mostly," Galahad chirped from the Gwaine's other side. "They're going to bind the land to the Pendragon name. Sort of like with Munsalvaesche to its leader, but not nearly as strong, and they're using a Mirroring spell so it'll last much, much longer than any Pendragon on the throne. Takes lots of power, and a physical act, so the wedding ties in perfectly. I'm excited."

Elyan smirked. "Just about the spellwork."

Galahad shook his head. "No, for the spellwork, and for the show. And you should see Lady Vivienne, she looks lovely."

"Shhhh," Leon growled, as Merlin stepped forward. Merlin himself was rather incredible to behold, being dressed seriously for perhaps the first time in his life, much less the last few weeks. He wore crisply pressed white trousers with a complex and almost magical-looking blue embroidery on the hem and moving up the sides. A deep cerulean tunic peeked out from a white jacket with gold buttons, and in place of his customary neckerchief was some kind of Druidic symbol or artifact the mundane knights had yet to make out. He had a day's worth of stubble on his cheeks and chin, making him look years older and more mature, and his eyes, looking more grey than blue with all the snow around, were focused and sharp. Then he began to speak, his eyes glowing gold.

The hair rose on the backs of the necks of the knights watching, and they tried to follow along, but Galahad distracted them. "We speak to Albion. We speak for the blood," he said to the others, then grinned. "That's my job, to translate for you, and for, well, everyone, really. It's another layer to the spell, a translation, since this is for the mundane, mostly."

The assembled crowd answered back before the knights could do anything else. "We speak for the blood, for the people of Albion," Galahad translated. "Very ask-and-answer, this first part is, but then big magic is like that. Oh, here's Merlin again...We call the land to look upon us. Now…We call the land to power. The land is the people, and the people are the blood. Tricky, that. Bordering dark magic if you get the phrasing wrong, but that was perfect. We see the land reflected in us. We are Albion. We are the land."

"Like Cameliard," Elyan muttered with an approving nod, and Leon poked him in the ribs to silence him, because the lines were glowing as much as the eyes of those around them now.

Galahad took a sharp breath, his eyes crossing involuntarily, then going back to normal. "Sorry. Power fluxes. Messing with my visions here. Um…We are the land. We are alive. We call the land to power. The land lives. Albion lives. We have heard the glory of—" Galahad faltered, his eyes growing wider. "Sorry, uh…We have heard the glory of the ancient kings in the days of y-yore, and th-there in the light of the kingdom shall be their p-power. We c-command their power. We beg the return of the light."

"What's the matter?" Gwaine asked, seeing Percival suddenly grey-faced.

"This is older than we thought," Percival muttered. "We didn't know Merlin was this powerful."

"He's not," Galahad said. "This is deeper than that, too. They're pulling directly from the land. This is dangerous. Um…These are the d-days of the Bear-King, who is and w-will be. We are the land of the Bear-King. Albion lives. We are the land. Hear us, and wake. We are the land."

Leon frowned, a dark feeling growing in his chest. "Dangerous for what? For the spell, for the kingdom?"

"For Merlin," Percival said with a shake of his head. "I hope he and his girl know what they're doing."

Arthur frowned at the sight of his friends looking so suddenly worried, but other than that, he didn't flinch at the magic words. "Looks like Merlin didn't tell _him _about this, either," Gwaine muttered, eyes flicking between them.

Galahad swallowed and kept going. "We hold to the land, we call the land. We call Albion. Hear us and wake. By the light of the sun, by the light in man, and the blood-bathed ground." He swallowed again.

"What's that?" Leon asked, sharply.

"Protection in war," Percival muttered. "Galahad, I may be able to take over if—"

The squire shook his head. "Every word should be perfect. We call Albion, on the land of the light, by the blood of the ancient kings, and the blood of the Pendragon. These are the days of the Pendragon. We swear fealty to the king who is and will be. These are the days of the Bear-King. We are Albion. We are Albion. Hear us now, and wake."

The lines in the snow glowed in a way that could be called fierce, the colors of the enchanted dye casting brilliant shadows on the druids' faces, before all fell silent and still. There was no movement other than the misty cloud of breath fluttering from the masses. Though not a single man or woman had ever raised their voices, they were so many that the silence was almost deafening.

Then came Guinevere, dressed in a simple, cobalt blue dress that was more like a shift beneath her white cloak. Her fists were clenched, her mouth a firm line, but she held her head high as she walked down the aisle under the arches.

Percival nodded. "She'll come before Freya," he said to the others, his voice hardly audible. "Her walk is the finishing touch of the first spell. Arthur may rule Albion, but she is the symbol of hope for Albion's future, in more ways than one."

The queen of Albion walked all the way down the aisle, kissed Arthur on the lips and Merlin on the forehead, and then retraced a step or two to stand at the head of the group on the left, across the aisle from the knights, standing next to Gaius. The colored lines glowed once more, then disappeared entirely, seeming to shoot straight down into the earth. The runes remained.

Merlin drew a sharp breath, and all heads turned to the back of the aisle again where Freya Vivienne stood. Her dress was simple, too, though not as simple as Gwen's. The gown was white with a touch of blue only perceptible because of the snow around her. A quick glance make it appear as though she were wearing ice. She cast Merlin a small smile, then began to walk.

This walk was much more dramatic than Gwen's, as well. Her steps were slower, and every time she passed under an arch, the ice splintered, and icicles like vines sprang from the gaps to curl down the arches, all without a single eye glowing gold. "Self-contained spell, prepared before," Percival breathed to the others, who had jumped the first time it happened. "Those themselves are preparations for the ceremony after the wedding."

The last arch exploded in vines before Freya stepped into the open space beyond the crowds and stood before her betrothed, still wearing that gentle smile. She said three words, inaudible from where the knights stood. "And to Avalon," Galahad muttered to them. "She told me before. That's the words to begin the next ceremony. They'll seal both spells with the marriage, now."

Arthur took a step forward with a long red cloth in his hands—the only red visible among the entire assembly. He swallowed. "We bring these two individuals together through the ancient tradition of handfasting," he said, taking Freya's hands. He looped the cloth around both wrists, loosely, then did the same with Merlin's with the other side of the cloth. He tied the two ends together, resting a hand on each of their shoulders.

"Needs to be more literal for their purposes," Percival explained, seeing Leon's confused look.

Arthur took a deep breath and looked at his best friend, not minding for once that Merlin was, for the most part, ignoring him. "Merlin Emrys, is it your wish to become one with this woman?"

"Yes," Merlin said, grinning at her as he said it.

"Freya Vivienne, is it your wish to become one with this man?"

"Yes," she answered, lifting her chin.

"Do any here oppose this union?" Arthur asked, raising his voice, although the look on his face suggested he'd happily execute anyone who stepped forward. From the other side of the aisle, Elyan heard a sniffling that could only be Gwen. He glanced over and sure enough, the queen was holding a hand to her face, leaning into Gaius' side. Glancing back to his own friends, he nearly laughed to see Gwaine blinking rather rapidly as well, while tears were flowing freely from a beaming Galahad's eyes.

Arthur knelt and picked up a goblet at his feet. He filled it with snow from the only loose patch left in a mile's radius and held it between the couple. Both pairs of eyes flashed gold and the snow melted into water. He lowered the goblet into Merlin's loose-bound hands. Merlin lifted it again, this time to Freya's lips. She took a sip, then took the goblet from him and did the same. Arthur took the goblet and allowed the two to entwine their fingers before pouring the rest of the water over their joined hands. "That's an ancient magical rite," Galahad whispered.

Did Elyan's eyes deceive him, or was _Arthur _blinking as much as Gwaine as he dropped the goblet and unwrapped the red cloth? "By the power vested in me, I pronounce you man and wife," the king said, his voice not wavering a bit. "You may—"

Their hands still joined, Freya and Merlin leaned forward and kissed, short, brief, and chaste. Arthur shrugged and fell silent, his hands clasped behind his back, ready for the second ceremony.

"Oh, this one might get louder," Galahad muttered to the others and Freya and Merlin pressed their foreheads together and began speaking at once. "All right. The Land of the Apple Tree Court avows for Albion. We cast our light across the waters."

The first ice arch shattered and melted in midair, making Gwaine, Elyan, and Leon jump again. The couple up front continued without a hitch. "We cast our light across the waves," he translated, and the second arch splintered and fell. "We cast our light to the distant shore." The third arch did the same. "We stretch our hands to the living and whole." There went the fourth arch. Galahad threw his hands over his ears. "We declare ourselves!"

The last arch, closest to the knights shattered and Percival covered his ears as well while the tiny splinters of ice ricocheted toward them, bouncing off their clothing. "What the—" Gwaine began, looking at the two as if they'd gone crazy, and a second later knew why. Because the instant the last arch broke, every single individual with magic began chanting, different words for every person at a different pace and volume, forming a single heady cacophony of nothing but noise, noise, noise. The other knights covered their own ears, wincing against the wave of sound flooding over them. Elyan groaned, wishing he was in the back rather than facing the mob.

Luckily the noise didn't last more than a minute, and when the last druid had quieted, Merlin and Freya pulled together for an _actual _wedding kiss, wrapping their arms around each other as the runes in the snow broke and sank as the lines had before. There was a rush of cold air that seemed to come from the ground itself, and the knights experienced a feeling similar but not exactly like their ears popping, and the druids raised their hands and launched hundreds of glowing balls of light into the afternoon sky, mingling with the candles still floating. The kissing couple broke apart and released their hands, and everyone began to cheer. The spell was complete, and the wedding was over.

The poor could not travel after a wedding because they couldn't afford it; the royal couldn't because one does not take a day off from being king and queen. Merlin and Freya were lucky in that respect. They ruled different provinces in different ways. "King" and "Queen" were perhaps misappropriated titles. In short, Freya was taking Merlin to Avalon for a day or two, partly because he needed a break, and partly because there were ends of the spells of their ceremony that could only be tied off from the Land of Apples itself.

They insisted on an escort to the Lake, so the original members of the Round Table (and Galahad, who was giddy with excitement about _something_) found themselves taking the newlyweds to their destination. The short journey was not a silent one—the friends laughed and talked all the way to the Lake's edge, and there dismounted their horses and began wishing the happy couple goodbye.

The Lake of Avalon never froze completely, and its Lady was able to dismiss the ice on top with a single wave of her hand—they'd be taking the underwater road that day. Freya grinned and took her new husband's hand. "Ready?" she said.

"Ready," Merlin answered, squeezing her hand in his.

"Take care, Merlin," Gaius called with a fond smile. "Be careful."

Freya led Merlin into the lake, turning around and leading him backwards once the water hit knee deep.

Arthur watched them go with an arm around Gwen's waist. He cocked his head. "Funny," he said softly, watching them walk. "I've got…well…almost a bad feeling, watching them wade in the water like that." Gwen, her head resting on his shoulder, furrowed her eyebrows and nodded in agreement.

Gwaine frowned. "Strange. Me too."

"It's probably the mortality thing," Galahad said, off hand. "They're both creatures of magic, so it's not so bad, but still."

The other knights turned and stared at him while Gaius sighed and dipped his head. "Galahad—" he began.

"_What _mortality thing?" Percival asked, eyebrows furrowed.

"Well, it's _Avalon,_ the land of the Everyoung," Galahad said, shrugging. "There's a reason most people only see it at the moment of their death. You can't be completely whole and healthy and alive and mortal and enter into Avalon. It doesn't work like that."

"…So?" Arthur asked, dreading the answer.

"So, you've got to die to go there," the squire finished. "A little, anyway. You have to leave your mortality at the water's edge, and pick it up again when you get back."

The bottom dropped out of the king's stomach and the knight's jaws dropped. "You mean Merlin's _dying?_" Elyan burst. "Right now, while we're watching him walk into the lake? He's _dying?_"

Galahad raised his eyebrows. "That's sort of a dramatic way to put it, but sure. That's one way to look at it." The couple were chest-deep now, and had both turned around to wave their friends goodbye again, grinning like maniacs. Galahad waved back, unaware that the others (minus Gaius, who'd known that already) were staring at the two in horror. They turned around, took a few more steps, and disappeared beneath the surface entirely.

The squire clapped his hands together and bounced on his heels. "All right, don't move, anyone, because they're taking the underwater road to help me with your gifts."

Percival was the quickest to recover from the revelation they'd just been given—he'd consulted Munsalvaesche for a more in-depth answer and was satisfied by what he'd seen. "Gifts? Now, Galahad? What is it?"

"Just keep your eyes on the Lake," he answered, bouncing harder. That wasn't a problem for the others, still staring at where the two had disappeared.

Gwen recovered next, disentangling herself from Arthur and walking with Gaius to stand beside Galahad and Percival. "What have you got planned, my boy?" Gaius said, glancing to the Lake's still surface.

Galahad grinned. "You'll see…any second now…"

A figure burst out of the Lake, spraying water everywhere, and turned toward the banks where the others stood. He was dressed in chainmail, waist-deep in water, somewhat see-through, but easily recognizable, even if he had let his hair grow out again. _Lancelot. _He shook the water out of his hair and grinned at the company on shore. He raised a hand in greeting, smile broadening when his eyes swept across Galahad, then faded into mist.

"I'm sorry he couldn't stay longer, but this was just a favor," the squire said. "Any more time would have required magic. Probably dark. But I wasn't just working when Lady Vivienne took me back to Astolat and Avalon and places. I've letters to all of you from Father, back at the citadel."

Gwen smothered a sob with her hand and Arthur blinked, as if coming out of a haze. "…Come on, then," he said, quiet and subdued. "Let's go home."


	24. Gifts X: January 1

**Time to wrap up (hah!) the GIFT arc, as there are only a few days left of Midwinter for our friends from Camelot, and some Actual Canon(ish) involved Plot in today's. **

* * *

Less than a day after Merlin and Freya's wedding, a familiar figure was seen flying over Camelot. Then back again, an hour later. Then away, then back. This in itself was unusual. Kilgharrah knew there were those who still felt uncomfortable with the sight of a dragon flying overhead and he and Aithusa usually avoided flying directly over the city when they needed to go somewhere. It was strange to see him flying over without stopping. Arthur, troubled and bored, walked down to the valley by the north tower and decided to wait and watch for the dragon—if he needed to talk, he would land there.

Sure enough, and hour or so later, Kilgharrah flew over the city, circle twice, and landed in the valley a few hundred feet away from Arthur. Arthur rose from the rock he was sitting on and smiled at the dragon. "Hello, Kilgharrah," he said, with a respectful decline of the head. "We've been sort of expecting you, what with the holidays and everything. You missed—"

"Is Merlin here?" Kilgharrah cut in, already stretching his wings to prepare for another flight.

Arthur blinked and frowned at the worried tone in the dragon's voice. "…No, he's in Avalon. You missed his wedding yester—" Kilgharrah growled, interrupting him, and lifted off from the ground with a single flap of his wings, moving in the direction of the Lake of Avalon. The king frowned deeper, trying to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach at the ordinarily polite dragon's abrupt take off.

An hour after that, Kilgharrah was flying over the city again, lower this time, low enough that observant citizens could make out the grim-faced warlock on his back. The city watched, a little alarmed, as the dragon and his lord spent the rest of the day soaring over Camelot at odd intervals and seemingly random patterns. Arthur called an emergency council meeting _in the druid camp _to see if anyone had heard of anything going wrong—why else would Kilgharrah behave in such a bizarre manner? And why else would Merlin return to the land of the living without stopping by to at least say hello?

Kilgharrah landed in the north field again at sundown, taking off again minutes afterward. A disheveled and bone-numbingly exhausted Merlin staggered into the castle shortly after and stumbled, half-asleep, to the magical branch of the library where he'd set up a cot since Alice had returned to Camelot. The men of the Round Table burst in just in time to see the warlock collapse onto the cot, bury his face in his pillow, and scream.

"What's wrong, Merlin? What's happened?" Arthur asked, frozen in the doorway in front of his knights.

Merlin groaned and rolled over, facing his friends. "…Dragons hibernate," he began, his words slurring a bit. "Well, sort of hibernating, but not exactly. In winter they sleep for a few weeks at a time, but they're always careful to wake during important days. They're also, as well you know, surprisingly easy to trap, if you're that stupid." He sat up a bit more and rubbing his tearing eyes. "Kilgharrah…Someone trapped him in his cave, after he woke during Saturnalia. It's a quiet time for dragons. They try to make themselves inconspicuous. So they were awake, him and Aithusa, but not exactly…alert."

"A bit like you now," Gwaine said, stepping forward and dropping a hand on Merlin's forehead. "Just tell us what's wrong, mate."

He swallowed back a sob. "Aithusa's missing. Aithusa's missing and we can't find him. Kilgharrah's sure he disappeared on Bruma."

* * *

**Also, HAPPY TWELFTH NIGHT, EVERYONE! The traditional last day of Christmas, the "Twelve Drummers Drumming" as the song goes, and a rather obligatory holiday for me. I'm celebrating in the obvious way: digging into an audio production of Twelfth Night, or What You Will to listen to my namesake sass everyone to death. Hope your holidays were stellar, no matter what heartbreak Christmas Eve brought! (Heh, my sister was sobbing on the couch on Christmas Eve after we finished the series, while I was blinking in surprise going "wow, that really wasn't so bad. I was expecting a lot more death. I can live with this." And then I got slapped.) Never mind that, Shakespeare awaits! **


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